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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013551">A Rose That Blooms in Winter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/claralannister/pseuds/claralannister'>claralannister</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Green-Eyed Monsters [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward First Times, Coming Out, Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, Established relationship between Sansa and Margaery, F/F, First Time, I'll update the tags as we go along, Margaery Survives and Goes North, Margaery Tyrell Lives, Stark Family Reunion(s) (ASoIaF), This is a spinoff fic of Green-Eyed Monsters, among others, and sansa generally getting the love and appreciation she deserves, extremely gratuitous title drop, i'll give you a quick recap in the first chapter notes, if you haven't read GEM and you're just here for sansaery, soft and loving sex, stark kid reunion but make it more personal and emotional than the show, well the sept explosion never happened in the first place, which is my jaime/brienne/cersei fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:01:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/claralannister/pseuds/claralannister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After escaping King's Landing, Sansa and Margaery find themselves at Castle Black, reunited with Jon Snow and swept into the turmoil brewing in the North.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark &amp; Olenna Tyrell, Arya Stark &amp; Sansa Stark, Jon Snow &amp; Margaery Tyrell, Jon Snow &amp; Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell &amp; Olenna Tyrell, Sansa Stark &amp; Olenna Tyrell, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Green-Eyed Monsters [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Farewell Wanderlust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa and Margaery arrive at Castle Black after an arduous journey north, to find Jon waiting for them. Sansa is forced to confront a difficult truth, and she and Margaery finally feel safe enough to be intimate with one another.</p><p>Chapter titles in this work are all from songs by “The Amazing Devil”.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quick recap for those of you who haven't read the work this story derives from (the previous one in this series)<br/>*voiceover voice* Previously on Green-Eyed Monsters…<br/>Instead of ordering Sansa to be found and killed, Cersei orders her to be brought back to King’s Landing after learning that Margaery harbours feelings for her, hoping to throw a spanner into the works of Margaery and Tommen’s marriage. She is ultimately successful, as Sansa and Margaery’s relationship begin to develop and they fall for each other, distracting Margaery from the political turmoil the city has slowly descended into. Margaery is arrested by the Faith when they arrive in King’s Landing, and Sansa manages to free her while Cersei is being subjected to her walk of atonement, the two of them fleeing the city together with Loras in tow (at first).	</p><p>Cersei, Jaime and Brienne are also in a polyamorous relationship, on the basis that Brienne has two hands but Jaime, both literally and figuratively, only has the one. But if that’s not your thing, don’t worry.</p><p>Also, Littlefinger has been missing since he killed Lysa at the Eyrie, and is presumed to be dead, and the knock-on effect of this means that the situation with the Boltons is slightly different than in canon. This will be elucidated in later chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had been riding for two months, and Sansa had a sneaking suspicion that they were never going to make it to the Wall. </p><p>They had left Loras behind in the end, as he’d opted to travel south to Highgarden instead of going North: a decision Sansa wasn’t quite sure what to make of, but she couldn’t change his mind.<br/>
“If the Faith want to come and find me,” he’d said, as the three of them stood at a crossroads together, “they can bloody well try and get through the Tyrell army.” He’d looked at Margaery expectantly. “They can protect <em> us. </em>You too, Sansa.” </p><p>He didn’t have to say it, but the words were implicit. <em> Come with me. You can be happy in Highgarden.  </em></p><p>But Brienne’s words had gnawed at Sansa’s gut. Jon was at Castle Black, she knew he was, and she had to return to him. Not more than she had to be with Margaery, but not less, either. She didn’t know which way her loyalties would go if she had to decide. </p><p>Mercifully, she didn’t. Margaery had agreed to ride north with her, saying that if that was where Sansa needed to go, she would go with her. It was an unspoken <em> I choose you, </em>a placing of her loyalties. She had waved goodbye to her brother wistfully, but with a determination behind her eyes, that she and Sansa were going to make it north together. </p><p>But Sansa was beginning to fear that Margaery regretted that decision. The journey north had been arduous, and it had taken a toll on both of them. It wasn’t as though their relationship had broken down - though the details of that arrangement were still hazy - but as they grew more tired and weary and uncertain, they had mostly ridden in silence, often too tired to do anything more. It wasn’t as though the journey itself was too arduous, as they mostly rode in peace, but Sansa still found herself exhausted all of the time.</p><p>Perhaps it was just the doubt that plagued them every step of the way. The road seemed endless, and with every identical day it seemed less and less likely that they would make it. Winter was coming, and the days were growing colder. Sansa did her best to help Margaery grow accustomed to their new surroundings, huddling her at night and wrapping her in the clumsy furs she managed to sew in the stiller nights, but she was out of her depth, and it was showing. </p><p>As the cold began to claw at her bones, Sansa’s own mind became plagued with fears. They would be found by enemies of the Starks, or the Faith, or the Lannisters, despite Jaime’s promises.Or Jon would not be at the wall at all, and they had come all this way for nothing. So far the road behind had been as clear as the road ahead, but she still felt like they were being followed. </p><p>They hadn’t gone by Winterfell. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. </p><p>But one day, when the sky and the snow were identical and the world felt like a white void encapsulating her, a black gate broke through the endless white.</p><p>The second they saw it, they stopped dead in their tracks. Sansa almost couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t quite reach that feeling of victory or finality. </p><p>“Is this it?” Margaery asked, her breath a smoking furnace against the air. </p><p>“There’s only one way to find out.” </p><p>She goaded her horse into a slow trot, scared to go any faster. The gate could almost have been a mirage, an illusion rippling in the snow.</p><p>“Will they let us in?” Margaery asked. Her voice was so loud against the still cold.</p><p>Sansa dismounted from her horse and stepped towards the gate. She ran her hand across the cold black wood - <em> real, </em> she thought. Real, and right in front of her, and thousands and thousands of miles away from King’s Landing. </p><p>Jon was on the other side, if she hadn’t missed him. Her family. Her only family, if Arya and Bran were dead, which they likely were.</p><p>“I hope they do,” she said. “It’s a long way back to King’s Landing if they don’t.”</p><p>Margaery chuckled hopelessly at that.</p><p>She raised her hand, and knocked three times.</p><p>“Who goes there?” The voice on the other side made her stumble back.</p><p>She took a deep breath. “My name is Sansa Stark. My brother Jon-”</p><p>The gate opened a sliver, and a face peered at her.</p><p>“Sansa Stark is a hostage in King’s Landing,” the man said. </p><p>“I have spent the past eight weeks riding north.” Why was he scrutinising her? It wasn’t as though he knew what she looked like, beside the red hair. “I wish to see my brother. I was driven out of the city-”</p><p>The gate slammed shut.</p><p>She turned back to Margaery. The fear in her bright blue eyes was visceral. </p><p>“Is that it?” Margaery asked. She marched closer to the gate, looking at it with bemusement. “That can’t be it. They have to let us in.”</p><p>“For all they know, we’re just two common girls pretending to be highborn ladies. Or worse, we’re spies coming to infiltrate them.”</p><p>They stood there for a moment, staring at the obsidian mass in front of them.</p><p>Then, footsteps. Sansa’s ears pricked up at the sound of them: they were getting closer, they had to be.</p><p>She clenched her gloved hands together.</p><p>The gates opened again, painstakingly slowly, until they were halfway ajar. There were two men walking towards them from across what looked like a courtyard, both wearing the full black garb of the Night’s Watch. </p><p>“You’re gonna want to see this,” one of them said. “Two girls at the gate, one of ‘em saying she’s Sansa Stark and she wants to-”</p><p>“Jon,” Sansa breathed. The other man’s face came into focus. </p><p>“My sister is in King’s Landing.”</p><p>“That’s what I thought. But she said she wanted to speak with you.”</p><p>A puzzled look came over Jon’s face. Was there something like hope behind his eyes, or was that just wishful thinking?</p><p>She wanted to shout to him,️ wave her arms and say <em> Jon! Jon, it’s me! I’ve come back! </em>But the men of the Night’s Watch were armed with swords and snarls, and she feared that if she made too much noise she would be run through. </p><p>“Aye,” Jon said. “I’ll speak with her.”</p><p>Sansa swallowed. Margaery reached for her hand, and she clasped it, gloved hands heavy in each other. </p><p>“Though I can’t think what-”</p><p>He stopped in his tracks. Recognition flickered onto his face as his eyes met hers, their gazes latched onto each other from across the snow. </p><p>“Jon,” she said, voice trembling. </p><p>He was silent a few seconds longer. </p><p>Then she was being wrapped into the tightest hug she’d felt in a long time, her brother’s arms around her tightly, almost knocking out what little air was still in her lungs. </p><p>“You came back,” he said. “I never thought I’d see you again.”</p><p>He might have been crying against her shoulder. She didn’t want to pull away long enough to check. </p><p>“We escaped,” Sansa said. “We had to - there was nowhere else to go-”</p><p>“We?” </p><p><em> Oh. </em>Sansa had been so caught up in the euphoria of seeing Jon again, she hadn’t even thought about Margaery. </p><p>They wouldn’t turn her away, would they? They’d have to let her stay. She was her -</p><p>
  <em> What will Jon think of her? Not of her - of course, he’ll love her, everyone does, but of her and me? He’ll think I’m disgusting. I was always horrible to him, back when we were at Winterfell together, and now he’ll - </em>
</p><p>“This is Margaery,” she said, trying her best to dispel the thoughts that had decided to plague her again. “She’s my friend.” </p><p>“Margaery...Tyrell?” Jon raised his eyebrows. “The <em> queen?” </em></p><p>“Yes.” Margaery stepped forwards, having hung back by the gate while Sansa and Jon were hugging, clearly not wanting to intrude on them. “Yes, Lord S - Lord Commander-”</p><p>“<em> Jon </em>is fine,” he said. “Why did you leave King’s Landing, Your Grace?”</p><p>“It’s not Your Grace anymore,” Margaery said, and there was a bitterness in her tone. “My brother and I were arrested by a group of fanatics called the Sparrows, who managed to take control of the city. Sansa freed us, and we fled together, but Loras went to Highgarden instead. Brienne of Tarth told us to come north to find you, so we did.”</p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t know a Brienne of Tarth.”</p><p>“She was a friend of Mother’s, I think,” Sansa said. “But that doesn’t matter right now. We - we have nowhere else to go, and we’ve been riding for months. Will you let us stay here?”</p><p>The request sounded pathetic. <em> She </em>sounded pathetic, like a frightened little girl again. </p><p>“Of course.” He looked at her, something puzzled in his expression. “You really think I’d turn you away after you came all this way?”</p><p>“I don’t know what to think,” Sansa said. </p><p>Jon looked behind him nervously. “As long as I have a say in the matter, you’ll have a safe place here.”</p><p>“You say that like you don’t have a say in the matter.” Fear began to claw at Sansa’s stomach again. “You are Lord Commander, aren’t you?”</p><p>Jon sighed. “It’s been a difficult time. You’d better come inside.”</p><p> </p><p>Margaery had declined to eat dinner with them, volunteering to stay in their room and unpack their things. </p><p>“Besides,” she’d said, “Jon is your <em> brother. </em>You haven’t seen him in years, you need time to catch up and explain everything to him. I don’t want to intrude on that.”</p><p>“You’re not intruding,” Sansa had insisted. “You have as much of a right to be here as I do.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Margaery had said. “But you need time.”</p><p>And so Sansa and Jon ate alone together, the Northern ale and mutton a warm comfort. She was so used to the sickly delicacies of King’s Landing that she had almost forgotten what good Northern food was like, and while this certainly wasn’t <em> good, </em>it was a bitter, overcooked mouthful of home. </p><p>Not home. But close enough. </p><p>“We never should have left Winterfell,” Jon said, after Sansa had swapped an account of her confusing return to King’s Landing for an explanation of what had happened to Jon. She was still a little unclear on the details - how had Jon been <em> killed? </em>- but she supposed she should have been grateful that the two of them were alive, and unharmed, and together now. </p><p>“Don’t you wish we could go back to the day we left?” Sansa said. “I would scream at myself: don’t go, you idiot.” She set her tankard down. “I keep thinking about what an ass I was to you. I wish I could change everything.”</p><p>“We were children.”</p><p>“I was awful, just admit it.” </p><p>“You were occasionally awful.”</p><p>“Can you forgive me?”</p><p>“There’s nothing to forgive!”</p><p>“Forgive me,” she insisted. </p><p>“Right.” Jon chuckled. “I forgive you.”</p><p>He took a sip from his bowl of soup. “Though, if you never left Winterfell, you wouldn’t have met Margaery. You two seem to be very good friends.”</p><p><em> Ah. </em>Her mouth went dry all of a sudden. She would have to tell him eventually, she supposed, if they were to stay here. Now was as good a time as any. </p><p>The words were just sticking in her mouth somehow, too afraid to come out. </p><p>“You alright?” He frowned. “You’ve gone pale. Well. Paler than usual.”</p><p>She took a deep breath. “Margaery is...a good friend of mine, you’re right. She was the only person who truly cared about me when I was in the capital, and we did everything we could to protect each other from the Sparrows - and the Lannisters, I suppose.” Her hands were shaking, and she wrung them together. “But...over time, we sort of became...closer. More than friends.” She looked at him desperately, to see if he understood what she was trying to convey. “When I was brought back to King’s Landing, I realised that I was feeling things for her, and I was scared, but it turned out she was feeling the same things for me.” She didn’t look at Jon this time, didn’t want to see his reaction. “So we - we’re not just good friends. We’re…” The words failed her again. What were they? “Lovers?”</p><p>The uncertain word hung in the silence for a moment, sitting shakily in the air. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sansa said. “I shouldn’t have told you. This was stupid. You probably think I’m disgusting, degenerate-”</p><p>“Is this why the Sparrows arrested her?” Jon said. “They found out about your...relationship?”</p><p>Sansa shook her head. “They accused Margaery of perjury. But I think they suspected us.”</p><p>“Look, whatever people said about you in the capital, it isn’t true. You’re not disgusting, and I’m sorry that you’ve been made to feel that way.”</p><p>She dared to lift her gaze. “You don’t think so?”</p><p>“I’ve been at the Night’s Watch for who knows how long. We’re all men here, and we’ve sworn off women. You think I’ve never seen two men together?”</p><p>“I thought it would be different-”</p><p>“You’re my sister. You might have been awful - occasionally! Only occasionally - but the last thing you are is disgusting.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Aye. I’m happy for you! She seems lovely, and she’s beautiful.”</p><p>“She is.” Sansa blushed. “She’s beautiful, and kind, and funny, and <em> clever </em>- don’t look at me like that!"</p><p>“The last person I heard you talk about like that was Joffrey.”</p><p>“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t dare.”</p><p>“Trust me, I’m a much better judge of character now. And she’s not Joffrey.”</p><p>“No, but she’s the queen. Or she was. My sister, the queen’s lover.”</p><p>“To me, she’s just Margaery. I didn’t even think about it like that. Will she be welcome here, then?”</p><p>Jon’s mouth thinned. “Like I said, as long as I have a say in the matter, you’ll both be welcome here. But I can’t stay here.”</p><p>Of course. He was hardly welcome here, after everything that had happened. </p><p>“Where will you go?”</p><p>“Where will <em> we go. </em>”</p><p>“Margaery too?”</p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>“Where will we go, then?”</p><p>He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking about it - I mean, we can hardly go home, but we can go a little further south, to Wintertown, maybe?” He shook his head. “No. I need - I need time to think about it. I don’t want to muck this up.”</p><p>Sansa nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”</p><p>He looked at her, pensively in the firelight, for a few moments. “Come here,” he said. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>He extended his arms and pulled her into another hug. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I know it must have been difficult for you.”</p><p>Sansa smiled against his shoulder. “Thank you for being so understanding.”</p><p>“Always.”</p><p> </p><p>She slipped back into their room a little while later to find Margaery sitting on the bed, sorting through their clothes. The fire crackled in the corner of the room, spitting glowing ash onto the floorboards. </p><p>“Sansa!” She looked up excitedly. “How was it?”</p><p>She swallowed nervously. “I told him.” </p><p>Margaery’s face dropped. “What did he say?”</p><p>“He understood. He said you sounded like a lovely woman.”</p><p>Margaery beamed, and Sansa instinctively beamed right back at her. “Thank the gods. I’m glad he’s taking it so well. You must have been so scared. I remember when my brother first told me he liked men, he was frightened out of his mind.”</p><p>“What did you say?”</p><p>“Well, at first I didn’t approve. But two weeks later when I kissed one of my handmaidens, I was singing a very different tune.”</p><p>Sansa let out a laugh. “He must have been smug about that.”</p><p>“Oh, seven hells, he was.” She glanced over at the bed. “I’ve just been unpacking our things. It’s good you managed to pack them all so quickly, but I doubt most of my dresses will be appropriate for the cold weather.”</p><p>“I’ll make you something.” Visions of what she could make began to flow into her mind: Margaery in a blue dress like her mother’s, Margaery in a beautiful fur-lined cape, Margaery in a skirt with intricate rose embroidery spilling across the hem. Her hands buzzed at the thought, desperate to get back to work. “I can’t believe I haven’t already.”</p><p>Margaery chuckled. “You’ve been so overwhelmed by everything lately, surely you wouldn’t have had time to make dresses for me. But now we’re here, and we’re safe, you can do whatever you like.”</p><p>“We won’t be able to stay here long,” Sansa said. She didn’t want to go into all of it, didn’t want to burden Margaery with everything Jon had told her, but she didn’t want to put her under the illusion of security. “We might have to ride south, soon, but we’re not sure where. But you’ll be welcome to come with us.”</p><p>Margaery’s face fell a little. “Oh.”</p><p>“Is that a problem?”</p><p>“No! No, it’s just... a shame, that’s all. Will we be going far?”</p><p>“No further south than Wintertown, I don’t think. Don’t worry, we haven’t come all this way for nothing.” She walked over to the bed and sat down. “I keep thinking about how we nearly missed Jon. Imagine if we’d been just a few days late, how stupid we would have felt.”</p><p>Margaery sat down next to her, nestling into her a little. “But we didn’t. And that’s thanks to you. If it weren’t for you, I would have been rotting in the cells beneath the Sept by now, or enduring whatever punishment they thought fit to give me.” She placed her hand in hers. “I’m so lucky to have you.”</p><p>Sansa gripped Margaery’s hand. She didn’t know what to say, a thousand words pouring into her head but not quite escaping her mouth, <em> thank you for not giving up on me thank you for coming with me thank you for holding me and loving me and needing me like I need you and thank you thank you thank you - </em></p><p>So she kissed her instead. She was soft and warm in spite of the cold, like she’d carried the sunshine of Highgarden with her all the way up here. Margaery leaned into her, her tongue slipping delicately between her lips and meeting Sansa’s own, gentle and hungry at the same time, finding instead of taking. </p><p>Sansa lowered Margaery onto the bed all of a sudden, passion pushing her like the hot coals in the fire. Margaery gave a little gasp, and <em> oh </em>that added kindling to the feeling, and Sansa’s hand came to her breast as she lay on top of her. </p><p>“Sansa,” Margaery said, something needy in her voice. “<em> Sansa.” </em></p><p>“We’ve never,” she breathed, her lips a hair’s breadth away from Margaery’s still. “I’ve never, I don’t know…”</p><p>“But you want to?” Margaery asked. </p><p>Sansa nodded, that fact suddenly solidifying in her mind. She wanted to be with Margaery tonight, as lovers did, as they had come close to doing before but had never quite completed, Sansa not feeling ready to and Margaery knowing when to stop. </p><p>She didn’t want to stop now. </p><p>“I’ve never done this before,” Sansa said. </p><p>“Do you know how it works?” Margaery said. Her cheeks were flushed now, beautifully so. She could have been a maiden in a song. They both could have been. </p><p>“I know where to touch you,” Sansa said. “I think. But I don’t know...how, if that makes sense.”</p><p>“You want to touch me? Not the other way around?”</p><p>“Is that alright?”</p><p>“Of course. We’re going to do whatever feels right for you, and if you want to stop, or do something different, please just tell me.” She looked up at Sansa expectantly, her blue eyes wide with lust. “Okay?”</p><p>Sansa nodded. <em> We’re about to do this. I’m actually about to do this. Not with some boy, some man I’ve been sold to like cattle, not Joffrey’s cruelty or Tyrion’s bawdiness, but Margaery. A woman. A woman I love.  </em></p><p>Margaery began to remove her dress, shimmying up a little to do so. It came off quite easily under her furs, and Sansa couldn’t help but gasp as she revealed her breasts. </p><p>She put her dress and cloak on the floor. “Do you want to take yours off too, or stay clothed?”</p><p>“...Can we do it if I’m still clothed?”</p><p>“We can do <em> this </em>.”</p><p>Sansa considered it for a moment. “I’ll take mine off.”</p><p>“Because you want to?”</p><p>“Because I want you to see me.”</p><p>Margaery’s mouth blossomed into a smile. “Oh.”</p><p>She fiddled with the buttons at the front of her dress, trying to get it off as quickly as she could. She practically flung her smallclothes to the floor once she was in them, nothing like the decorum with which Margaery had set down her own. </p><p>They looked at each other for a moment. She felt exposed in a way she had never been before, and she was shivering a little in the cold, but the fire in the corner and the desire slowly building in her warmed her. </p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” Margaery marvelled. “I’ve always known that, but...you’re perfect. Really, you are.”</p><p>“What do you want me to do now?”</p><p>Margaery blinked a few times, perhaps in disbelief. “Touch me.”</p><p>“There?”</p><p>“Yes.” She parted her legs, almost inviting Sansa to the soft wetness between them. “Have you ever done this to yourself?”</p><p>Sansa nodded. “A few times. But you will tell me if you don’t like it, or if it’s bad, or…”</p><p>“I will. And I trust you, Sansa.”</p><p>She flushed even deeper, suddenly feeling stifled by the furs and the flames. </p><p>“Alright.” </p><p>She dipped her hand to Margaery’s cunt, trying frantically to remember what she had done to herself all those flustered times in the dark. </p><p>“A little higher,” Margaery said, her voice soft and aching. “<em> Oh - </em>there, yes, right there.”</p><p>Sansa stroked two fingers in a circle around Margaery’s pearl, and Margaery gasped and arched her back. </p><p>“Gods,” she said. </p><p>“Is that good?” </p><p>“Yes,” Margaery said breathily. “Yes. <em> Sansa…” </em></p><p>She was so beautiful, lying beneath her, her skin so soft and delicate and her little gasps and cries like the sweetest birdsong. </p><p>“Can you…” Margaery writhed her hips against Sansa’s hand. “Can you put your fingers inside me?”</p><p>Sansa nodded. She’d never done that to herself, and was a little unsure of how to go about it, but if it was what Margaery wanted, then she needed to give it to her. </p><p>She dipped her hand lower, seeking the source of her wetness. </p><p>“There,” Margaery said as Sansa pressed against her opening. “Right there. Oh…”</p><p>Sansa slid one finger in, and Margaery arched her back even deeper, squeezing her eyes shut in bliss. She moved it in and out again, fucking her gently - because that’s what she was doing, <em> fucking </em> her, for the first time.<br/>
“How’s that?”</p><p>“Oh, gods…”</p><p>She took that as a compliment, then. Margaery opened her eyes again to look up at her, and if Sansa pressed even a finger to her own pearl she knew she would have come right there and then. </p><p>Spurred on by the desire burning in her own stomach, she reached her thumb up to touch Margaery’s pearl again, rubbing it in those same circles as she had before while still sliding her index finger in and out. The movement was a little clumsy at first as she struggled to coordinate the two fingers, but once she got into the rhythm of it, Margaery cried out even louder, her rosebud mouth open wide as her pleasure built and built beneath Sansa. </p><p>“Oh,” she said, her breath even more ragged now, “oh, don’t stop, Sansa, I’m going to-”</p><p>Whatever words were going to come next dissipated into a jumbled, desperate moan as she threw her head back and shut her eyes once more, coming undone under Sansa’s ministrations. It was the most beautiful thing Sansa had ever seen. </p><p>Her whole body shuddered as her breath slowed, Sansa’s hand still working away at her cunt. She pulled it away when Margaery opened her eyes once again, and grinned lazily up at her. </p><p>“Seven hells,” was all Margaery said before Sansa pounced upon her with a deep, loving kiss. </p><p>“That was incredible,” Sansa said when she pulled away, her mouth still a hair’s breadth away from Margaery’s. </p><p>“For <em> you?” </em>Margaery said. “How do you think it was for me? It was beyond incredible, it was…” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t even have the words for it.” </p><p>Sansa rolled her body off Margaery’s and came to lie on the bed beside her. “Part of me wishes we could stay here forever, now,” she said. </p><p>“There will be other places,” Margaery said. “Other beds, other rooms. Hopefully rooms that are a little warmer than this.”</p><p>Sansa chuckled. “Spoken like a true Highgarden girl. You’ll get used to the cold.”</p><p>“I’d better.” She looked over at Sansa, the blue of her eyes drowning in her pupils. “Do you want me to please you, now?”</p><p>“Yes,” Sansa said instinctively, before she’d even fully realised her response. “Oh, gods, yes please.”</p><p>“Do you want me to touch you like you touched me, or something else?”</p><p>“What else?”</p><p>“There are other things women do to one another.”</p><p>Sansa raised her eyebrows playfully. “Oh, really? What would those be?”</p><p>Margaery chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were feigning innocence.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve never done this before,” Sansa said, trying her best to be teasing. “You’ll have to show me very carefully. I’m a slow learner.”</p><p>“Well, I happen to be a very good teacher.”</p><p>“You think so?”</p><p>“You tell me,” Margaery said, and she pulled herself down to the end of the bed, and moved her mouth to the meeting of Sansa’s thighs. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, both exhausted and cold, snuggling down into the furs. </p><p>They were rudely awoken by a knock at the door. “Sansa?”</p><p>Sansa opened her eyes, and immediately sprung off the bed. Thankfully, she’d taken the time to change into her nightgown beforehand, but she still didn’t want Jon to see her in bed with Margaery. </p><p>“What is it, Jon?” she said. Margaery was slowly blinking awake now. </p><p>“You’re going to want to come and see this. We’ve just received a raven.” There was fear in his voice, a terrified edge to it. “About you.”</p><p>Cold horror flooded her mind. “Who from?” Shit. The Lannisters had found her. No, the Sparrows had found her, and they were ordering her to -</p><p>“From Lord Bolton.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I'm glad I made the decision to keep telling their story but to separate it from the main work in this series. I would greatly appreciate any feedback or just your general thoughts on the story so far. </p><p>Oh, and in case that mention of the Boltons (and Ramsay's appearance in the tags) worried you, don't worry, Sansa will not be subjected to what she was subjected to in the show. I know this is kind of a spoiler for my own work, but I don't want to put anyone off by making them think Sansa will have to endure that.</p><p>And the chapter title comes from the song "Farewell Wanderlust" by The Amazing Devil.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Welcome To My Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon receives a threatening letter, and Margaery is forced to consider her place in the North after an uncomfortable encounter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow, </p><p>You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the wall. You have betrayed your own kind and your own people. Winterfell is mine, now, bastard, and my father rebuilt it and restored it as the centre of power in the North. </p><p>My father is dead now, the poor man, and I am his only surviving heir. We should have been Wardens of the North, but we were denied it. It was promised to us, your sister was promised to us, but we never received her. I have heard tell that Sansa Stark was seen travelling north, because I have spies everywhere, but they were unable to capture her. Hand her over willingly and there will be no bloodshed. Well. Not as much bloodshed. </p><p>Your brother Rickon is in my dungeons -”</p><p>Sansa’s heart plummeted at that, cold panic filling her. She’d thought Rickon was dead, he must have been, but the expression on Jon’s face told her that she was right to be afraid. That this was true. </p><p>She nodded at him to keep reading. </p><p>“...and his direwolf’s skin is on my floor. I want my pride, and I want what should be mine. Give her to me, let me marry her and take her for my own, or I will ride North and skin every man, woman and babe under your protection. You will watch as I skin them and…”</p><p>He set down the letter. “It’s more of the same from then on.”</p><p>Sansa snatched it from his hand and continued reading, getting the feeling that he was withholding something from her. This terrible letter had given her nothing but fear from the moment she had awoken, but she wanted to know. She would not cower from the truth. </p><p>She opened it. </p><p>“...and as my soldiers take turns raping your sister.”</p><p>Margaery inhaled sharply next to her. </p><p>“Sansa,” she said. “Don’t-”</p><p>“You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and my dogs will do the rest. We defeated Stannis Baratheon, and we can defeat you too. Come and see. Lord Ramsay Bolton, Warden of the North.”</p><p>She set the letter down, her hands shaking. </p><p>There was a silence for a few seconds as everyone at the table digested what had just been read out. Sansa could hardly conceptualise it herself, so overwhelmed by it all. </p><p>“Sansa,” Jon said. “Are you…”</p><p>She clenched her eyes shut. </p><p>“I rode North for freedom,” she said. “I thought I was done with being treated as a commodity to be bought and sold and used as people pleased. But here I am.”</p><p>Her voice cracked on that last word, and Margaery immediately reached for her hand. She clutched it, her lover’s warm skin on her own a small comfort. </p><p>“We won’t let that happen,” Jon said. “I promise.”</p><p>“Can you?” she said. “The Boltons - they’re allied with the Lannisters, aren’t they?”</p><p>“Roose Bolton was one of the orchestrators of the Red Wedding,” Margaery said. “But he’s dead now, apparently, and I can’t think where Ramsay’s loyalties lie.”</p><p>“He’s a host unto himself,” Jon said. “He won’t be doing this for anyone else, trust me.”</p><p>“This is what Littlefinger was doing,” Sansa realised, thinking out loud. “What he was taking me north for. He was going to sell me to the Boltons.”</p><p>“Littlefinger’s dead now, though,” Margaery said, “isn’t he?”</p><p>“I wish I could say for sure,” Sansa said. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. He has Rickon, and he wants me.”</p><p>Jon turned to one of his Wildling friends. Sansa couldn’t think of his name, but he had red hair, like hers, and he intimidated her more than a little. “How many men do we have?”</p><p>“That can march and fight? Two thousand. The rest are children and old people.”</p><p>A look of devastation manifested in Jon’s eyes. It wasn’t enough, she could tell that. </p><p>“You’re the son of the last true Warden of the North,” Sansa said. “Northern families are loyal, they’ll fight for you if they ask.”</p><p>Jon didn’t look so sure. </p><p>“This…” She gestured at the letter. “This sadistic, monstrous man has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both, and put an end to this.”</p><p>Margaery was still clutching her hand. </p><p>“You don’t have to come,” Jon said. “I don’t want you to put yourself at risk again if you don’t want to-”</p><p>“No matter what happens, I’ll be at risk,” Sansa protested. “I’m not going to sit back while you fight for me.”</p><p>“Do you really think the rest of the North will be loyal?” Margaery said hesitantly. “I know Ned Stark was the last Warden, but how much do we know about this Ramsay character - I mean, I know he sounds awful, but fear inspires more loyalty than love sometimes.”</p><p>Words echoed in Sansa’s head for a moment, disjointed and distant. Something along the lines of <em> the only way to make people love you is to make sure they fear you more than they fear the enemy.  </em></p><p>Cersei has said that to her, she realised. She wasn’t entirely convinced by her logic, but she suspected something along those lines would be applicable here.</p><p>“We will have to ensure the allegiance of the lesser Northern houses,” Jon said. “House Stark might almost be extinct, but that’s a very powerful <em> almost </em>.”</p><p>“You think they’ll pledge loyalty to a bastard?” One of Jon’s friends from the Night’s Watch scoffed.</p><p>Jon looked pointedly at Sansa. “Perhaps not. But they’d pledge allegiance to the trueborn daughter of Ned Stark.”</p><p>Sansa glanced at Margaery. There was anticipation in her eyes, she realised, replacing the fear that had lingered there a few minutes ago. Like she was excited, in some strange way. </p><p>“Margaery will be able to come too, won’t she?” Sansa said. </p><p>A few eyebrows were raised.</p><p>“You used to be the Queen, didn’t you?” That same man leered at Margaery a little. </p><p>Margaery nodded. “I might not have that power anymore, but I want to help where I can.”</p><p>“You think the Northerners will take kindly to a southerner helping us? That could look pretty fucking suspicious to me.” </p><p>“The Tyrells and the Starks have no hostility towards each other,” Jon said, “aside from the north and south thing.”</p><p>“Aye, but that might-”</p><p>“Look,” Jon said, his voice taking on a commanding tone and startling Sansa a little. “If I’m honest, when it comes down to it, this isn’t about house versus house. This is about protecting the people I am sworn to protect, the wildlings and the Watch and my family, and doing the right thing.”</p><p>He seemed to realise that he had made the situation even more tense, and he looked furtively around at the people at the table.</p><p>Sansa cleared her throat a little. “Margaery is one of the cleverest people I know. And if my faith in her won’t convince you, then it’s clear nothing can.” </p><p>She looked around at Jon’s friends. She didn’t feel particularly intimidating, but hopefully her gaze was having that effect on them. </p><p>“Sansa,” Margaery said. “You don’t have to-”</p><p>“I do.” She turned to look at Margaery, keeping that same steely gaze. “If we’re going to retake Winterfell, I need you by my side. We all do.”</p><p>She must be coming off a little unreasonable, she supposed. Jon’s friends must think her stubborn and unrelenting. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. </p><p>Jon raised his eyebrows at her. “So that’s settled, then?”</p><p>He offered her a little smile, which she suspected no one but her picked up on. </p><p>“That’s settled.” </p><p>Margaery gave her a little grin too, not smug or knowing, but one of gratitude. </p><p>“Time is of the essence,” Jon said, “and we need to round up as many men as we can, as quickly as possible, if we are to defend ourselves from the Walkers and the Boltons at the same time. Now-”</p><p>The sound of opening doors echoed through the room like a clap of thunder, and two more people walked in. Sansa glanced at them quickly before looking back at Jon: he hadn’t stopped talking, had barely noticed them.</p><p>But Margaery had. </p><p>It took Sansa a moment to register her shock: she was still absorbing herself in Jon’s discussion of which houses might prove loyal, but a cloud of tension rose up next to her.</p><p>Margaery was frozen, her icy blue eyes transfixed on a figure in the doorway in a look of abject disgust. She gripped the edge of the table like her life depended on it, knuckles so tight Sansa thought the bones might stick through.</p><p>“What is <em> she </em>doing here?” Her voice was shaking. </p><p>“Lady Melisandre is another...acquaintance of mine,” Jon said. “She-”</p><p>“Lady Margaery,” the woman - Melisandre - said. She was all red, like blood on snow, from her hair to her dress to the jewels clawing at her throat. The longer Sansa looked at her, the more unsettled she felt, but she couldn’t look away. </p><p>“You know her?” Jon said.</p><p>“I know of her,” Margaery said bitterly. </p><p>Sansa looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”</p><p>“I used to serve under Stannis Baratheon,” Melisandre explained. </p><p>Oh.</p><p>“You said a witch brought him back to life,” Margaery said, her words becoming more frantic. “You never said - she<em> killed Renly, </em>Sansa.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh.  </em>
</p><p>The red woman nodded. “I can only apologise, Your Grace.”</p><p>The man behind her looked around furtively, as if ashamed to be present with her. </p><p>“I know you loved Renly-”</p><p>“I did not love Renly,” Margaery said. “But that does not change the fact that you killed him.”</p><p>“I mistakenly believed that Stannis Baratheon was the Prince who was Promised,” she said, as if that explained anything. “But I now understand that I was wrong. I have dedicated myself to the service of Jon Snow under the condition that I work no magic without his permission, and-”</p><p>“Magic?” Sansa raised her eyebrows.</p><p>“I am a Red Priestess of the Lord of Light,” she said, “and-”</p><p>Margaery rose sharply out of her chair, the screeching of its legs on the floor grating in Sansa’s ears.</p><p>“If you’ll excuse me,” she said. “I…”</p><p>She took a deep breath.</p><p>“I need a moment.”</p><p>She walked out of the room as calmly as she could, clutching her patchy cloak around her and giving Melisandre a wide berth.</p><p>The door slammed sharply with the force of the wind.</p><p>Jon looked incredulously at Sansa, as if asking her for help.</p><p>“I understand her anger,” Melisandre said, far too calmly. “I only wish I could do something to persuade her I am not the enemy.”</p><p>“Please just leave her alone,” Sansa snapped. </p><p>Every head at the table turned to look at her. She stared them down. “Margaery has had a very difficult time adjusting. If she wants a moment to herself, please, just let her have it.”</p><p>“I must confess,” the man at the doorway said, “when I was told I was urgently needed for a meeting, I wasn’t expecting to see the Queen at the table.” He had kind eyes and a comforting, husky voice, unlike the syrup-coated venom of the red woman beside him.</p><p>“Margaery is a friend of Sansa’s,” Jon reiterated. “But if she is to stay with us, and help us fight for Winterfell, then…”</p><p>He looked pointedly at Melisandre.</p><p>“I will speak to her,” Sansa said. “But please, go on. We haven’t a moment to lose.”</p><p>Jon nodded, reluctant but understanding, and went back to his planning as Melisandre and her companion took seats at the table.</p><p>“Now, the main houses we need to concern ourselves with are the Umbers, the Karstarks, and the Manderlys. Now, the Karstarks have already declared for the Boltons, and we can’t expect them to waiver, all things considered, but the Manderlys…”</p><p>-</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Margaery was standing on the bridge, looking down at the courtyard. She didn’t look up as she spoke: she must have heard Sansa coming up behind her, felt her presence.</p><p>“I didn’t know she would be there,” Sansa said. “I didn’t even know who she was.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Margaery said. She still didn’t turn around. </p><p>Sansa didn’t know what to say. There was a heaviness in Margaery’s voice, a tremor that might have been from the cold or from drying tears. </p><p>She came to stand next to her. “She really killed Renly?” </p><p>“Not directly,” Margaery said. “Everyone thought Brienne killed him at first. But she was Stannis’s - I don’t even know what she was, but she used magic, Sansa.” She finally met her eyes, and there was a hollowness inside them. “The same magic that brought Jon back.”</p><p>Sansa’s eyes fluttered downwards. “I don’t know why he trusts her, and I can’t answer for him. But if you want me to - I mean, I’m not sure how much luck I’ll have, but I can talk to him…”</p><p>Margaery shook her head. “It’s not just that. That was just the final straw, seeing her. But these people...they don’t want me here, Sansa. You heard what they were saying about me before. And he - that man, Jon’s friend, what he said was right. I’m still the Queen to them, married to a Baratheon, allied with the Lannisters. And the last thing you need is someone untrustworthy, you need support, you need men. So…” Her sentence trailed off, her voice becoming hoarse. </p><p>Sansa looked at Margaery for a second, not quite sure what she was getting at. </p><p>“Wait.” The word came at the same time as the realisation did, and a pit of dread began to dig itself in Sansa’s stomach. “You mean - you’re not coming?”</p><p><em> No, </em> was her first thought. <em> You can’t leave me. I can’t leave you.  </em></p><p>“We - you need to reclaim Winterfell from that disgusting man,” Margaery said. “And if I’m going to weigh you down…”</p><p>She ran her hands along the cold wood of the bridge thoughtfully, not looking up at Sansa.  </p><p>“I know you want me with you. And I’m grateful that you fought for me back there. But if I’m going to impede you in any way, I may as well stay here. I can ride south when...I don’t know. When you have all that you need.”</p><p>“On your own? Margaery, it won’t be safe.” She couldn’t figure out why she was so determined to do this, to stay behind and sacrifice everything they’d come all this way for. She had a point, of course: Northerners didn’t like outsiders, and as she and Jon had discovered, and they had already lost the Karstarks and the Manderlys to the Boltons, but their desperation didn’t mean they would have to let go of Margaery. </p><p>She narrowed her eyes at her, trying to read her expression. </p><p>Then, as Margaery ran her eyes over the men of the Night’s Watch in the courtyard, almost surveying them, something clicked. </p><p>“Can I ask you a question?” she said, hesitantly. The words came out quietly, barely a wisp of cold fog escaping her mouth. “And you’ll promise me you’ll answer it honestly.”</p><p>Margaery frowned. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Sansa.”</p><p>“I know. But I need to know - Margaery, you still want to be queen, don’t you?”</p><p>Margaery averted her gaze. </p><p>“Loras said there would be other opportunities,” Sansa continued. “I didn’t understand what he meant then, when we left him. But I do now. I understand. You worked your whole life to become Queen, and I know it wasn’t easy letting that go.”</p><p>Margaery took a resigned breath. “I never want to go back to King’s Landing,” she said. “I don’t want to be Tommen’s queen, not anymore. But…” She looked as if she couldn’t find the right words. </p><p>“You still want power,” Sansa said, and Margaery looked almost ashamed. “I know that, Margaery. It’s alright.”</p><p>“Not more than I want you,” Margaery said. “I want to protect you and your family from that awful Ramsay Bolton, Sansa. Hearing those things he wrote about you…” She squeezed her eyes shut, and Sansa’s own stomach churned at the mention of it. “But I’m not done playing the game. I don’t think I ever will be.”</p><p>“None of us are,” Sansa said. “As long as we’re alive, we’re playing this stupid game.”</p><p>It was different for Margaery, she knew that. She had been playing to win her whole life, vying for the crown. And if they took back Winterfell and defeated the Boltons, she could stand to gain from that. Sansa couldn’t blame her for thinking about this situation selfishly: she might well have done the same.</p><p>“I want to take back Winterfell for my sake <em> and </em>yours. By any means possible.”</p><p>“And you thought the only way to do that was to stay here?”</p><p>Margaery didn’t respond for a moment. </p><p>“Margaery. Listen.” Sansa wished she could see into her mind, to know what was going on inside her troubled head. “I understand. The way that friend of Jon’s spoke about you, it couldn’t have helped, and then Melisandre…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know where to start with that. But as long as I am welcome here, so are you. And a North that can’t accept you is not a North I ever want to be Lady of.”</p><p>Margaery’s eyes softened. “You would choose me over the North?”</p><p>“No. I won’t have to choose. And you won’t have to choose between me and power.” She clasped Margaery’s hand in hers - it was still warm, somehow, like she’d captured a tiny bit of Southern sunlight in her palm and preserved it for the journey north. “Those things <em> will </em>come hand in hand, if we work for it.”</p><p>“That’s awfully optimistic of you.”</p><p>Sansa sighed, and stared up at the sky. “I’ve spent the past few years believing my whole family was dead, that my home had been razed to the ground, that I would stay in King’s Landing and live and die as a shell of myself. I owe myself a bit of optimism after all that, I think.”</p><p>“That’s a nice sentiment.”</p><p>“Maybe you could learn something from it.” A strand of Margaery’s hair had been blown loose by the wind, and Sansa tucked it behind her ear. “I’ve learned so much from you, it’s only fair.”</p><p>Margaery smiled softly. She looked for a moment as if she was about to lean in, and Sansa’s pulse quickened, the feeling of her soft skin still lingering in her fingers, but then Margaery jerked away.</p><p>“Not here,” she said, glaring down at the Night’s Watch men. “Not with them watching.”</p><p>“Jon said a lot of them enjoyed the company of other men,” Sansa said. “So if you’re worried about being judged…”</p><p>“Is it bad that they scare me? I’m not worried about their judgement, they just...leave me unsettled, is all. I’d rather not have them watching while I kiss you.”</p><p>“That’s understandable,” Sansa chuckled. She reached for Margaery’s hand, and traced her index finger over the back of her hand, still tense and white from gripping the bridge. </p><p>Margaery gave a small smile at that, her lips pink and chapped from the cold. Gods, Sansa wanted nothing more than to kiss her. She had no idea how she’d survived longing after her for so long and not even realising she was attracted to her, thinking her feelings were nothing more than a strong sense of friendship, and she had even less of an idea of how Margaery had survived thinking Sansa simply didn’t love her back. </p><p>“Seven hells!” Margaery’s eyes widened, and her hands came away from the bridge suddenly. </p><p>“What is it?” Sansa peered out into the courtyard, trying to see if Margaery had spotted something. </p><p>“No, it’s…” She put her head in her hands. “I’ve just remembered. I’m such an idiot.”</p><p>“Margaery, you are a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them. What is it?”</p><p>“The Tyrell troops.” Her voice was ragged all of a sudden, like she’d just been running. “Grandmother said...they hadn’t recalled all of them from the North.” Her eyes lit up. “There should still be some stationed here.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“If we’re not too late.” She grinned, and gods, the sight of her smile was a relief to Sansa. “I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s a small number, and there’s not enough time to send for the central troops from Highgarden.”</p><p>“How many?”</p><p>“Eight hundred, maybe?” Her grin faded, like she was embarrassed to have worn it in the first place. “Not enough for a winning side.”</p><p>“But enough to make a difference.” She grasped Margaery’s hand again. “Do you know what this means? We have a chance of winning, Margaery. We can take back Winterfell. And you will be Lady of Winterfell just as much as I will.”</p><p>“I’ll write to them immediately.”</p><p>“Do you know where they are?”</p><p>“Just east of the Dreadfort, I think. If they haven’t been recalled, which they shouldn’t have been, not yet.”</p><p>“If you help us win, no one will ever mistrust you again,” Sansa said. “And we will both get what we want.”</p><p>Margaery nodded. “I’m sorry. I...I panicked, I think.”</p><p>“So you’ll stay?”</p><p>“I’ll stay.”</p><p>A smile flitted across Sansa’s lips. </p><p>“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” Sansa said. “Riding to Hornwood, to Bear Island, to wherever we need to go to get the support we need. And then to Winterfell. To home.” </p><p>-</p><p>The snow fell thick that morning, and Sansa had barely stepped out onto the courtyard before her hair and cloak were all covered in a layer of glimmering white powder. She didn’t bother to shake it off, knowing it would only replace itself seconds later. </p><p><em> I never thought I’d feel the snow on my skin again. </em>She ached for a moment, for her childhood at Winterfell, Arya teasing her as they laboured over their embroidery, Robb and Bran throwing snowballs at each other in the cold mornings when the summer snow had come, her mother wrapping her up thick in her furs. </p><p>She couldn’t ever have that back, she knew that. But she could take back what was left of it, just  a little further south. </p><p>“New dress?” Jon walked up to her, pulling her out of her reverie.</p><p>“Oh,” Sansa said. “I made it myself, do you like it?”</p><p>“I like the wolf bit.”</p><p>She gripped the two packages in her hands. “Good. Because I made this for you.”</p><p>She reached out, and dropped the heavy furs into Jon’s hands. </p><p>He peered down at it, trying to figure out what she’d given him. </p><p>“I made it like the one Father used to wear.”</p><p>He looked up at her, eyes alight with surprise. </p><p>“Well. As best as I can remember.”</p><p>“...Thank you, Sansa.”</p><p>The look in his eyes was genuine, more stoic than the grin he had worn moments before. This wasn’t just a gift. It was a new beginning for House Stark, for the title of Warden of the North. A new beginning for Jon, as well. </p><p>“Did Margaery not come down with you?”</p><p>“She’s on her way. She’s still getting our things together, which is just as well, because I have a surprise for her, too.”</p><p>“Gods,” Jon said. “How long did all that take you?” </p><p>Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but then Jon’s eyes flickered behind her. </p><p>“Oh, here she comes now,” he said. “I’ll...uh...leave you to it.”</p><p>Sansa nodded appreciatively as he turned and left, clutching the cloak she’d given him to his chest. </p><p>“There you are,” Margaery said. “I think I managed to get everything together.”</p><p>She pressed a kiss to Sansa’s cheek, so fleeting it could have been just another snowflake. </p><p>“Is there room for one more thing?” Sansa asked. </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>She extended her arms. “I...this is for you.”</p><p>Margaery cautiously picked it up. </p><p>“Maybe don’t unfold it,” Sansa said. “It might get all snowy.”</p><p>“This is a dress,” Margaery said. </p><p>“Observant.”</p><p>“Did you make this?” Sansa nodded, and Margaery’s eyes gleamed. “Sansa, you didn’t have to-”</p><p>“I wanted to. My mother had this beautiful blue dress, and you’ve always looked beautiful in blue, so I modelled it after that. I thought you might like to wear it once we’re at Winterfell.”</p><p>“I don’t think I’ll ever take it off.” </p><p>Sansa smirked. “Not even for me?”</p><p>“Sansa! You are <em> terrible.” </em>She turned the dress over gingerly, and gasped. “This is beautiful.”</p><p>She’d stitched an intricate pattern into the bodice, a wolf like the one on her own, but interwoven with blue roses, tangled up in the vines as they flowed up to the neckline.</p><p>“I was up all night making them.”</p><p>“You embroidered all that in one night?”</p><p>“I didn’t quite mean to. But once I started, I couldn’t stop. It was like the needle took over me.”</p><p>Margaery ran a finger over one of the vines. “You’re so talented. I almost don’t want to put it away now.”</p><p>Still, she packed it into her bag, almost afraid to touch it. </p><p>“Did you write the letter?”</p><p>Margaery nodded. “I sent the raven off before I came down here. It should reach them a few days from now, and then…I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”</p><p>“Are we ready to leave?” Jon called from across the courtyard.</p><p>“Shit.” Sansa dashed towards the horses, and Margaery followed her quickly. </p><p>“Here we go on the road again,” Margaery remarked as she slung herself into the saddle. “I wonder if we’ll ever stop travelling.”</p><p>“We will,” Sansa said, sounding more certain than she felt. “Soon.”</p><p>As the gates opened, the flooding reality of what lay ahead hit her. They would be going into battle against a sadistic bastard who had their brother and their home. People were going to die, of that she was certain. Some of them could well be people she loved. </p><p>She blinked back anxious tears as her horse broke into a trot. <em> Afford yourself some optimism, Sansa. You need it now more than ever.  </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Sorry for leaving this story hanging for a bit there, I needed to figure out a way to make this and Green-Eyed Monsters line up properly (considering that the stories are sort of taking place at the same time and they will eventually merge again). Hopefully, I should have that sorted now. I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback in the comments if you have any!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Screaming At The Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon, Sansa, and Margaery struggle to gain support, as the clock ticks and Ramsay's threat looms over them.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Margaery </b>
</p><p>Bear Island was, all things considered, a rather beautiful place. Bleak and cold, like much of the North, but with a strange ethereal feeling to it. Margaery was beginning to adjust to the harsh beauty of this strange place, the way the sky was white as the snow and the sun just as warm most of the time. </p><p>She understood every now and again why Sansa loved this place so much, had yearned for it for so long while stuck in King’s Landing. An odd look always came over her face at times like this, when they were sailing across the expanse of water from the mainland, a sort of sad paradoxical smile. She was happy, Margaery could tell, but it would always be tainted by uncertainty until they managed to take back Winterfell. <em> If </em>they ever managed to do so.</p><p>Right now, that was looking like a very dubious “if”. They had the support of the Wildlings, the Hornwoods, and a few other minor houses, but their numbers still paled in comparison to the estimated five thousand Ramsay had. </p><p>When they had left Castle Black, the leftover scraps of the Tyrell troops had seemed like a beacon of hope for them, but as time went on that light was beginning to diminish. She still hadn’t heard back from them, though given how long ago she’d sent the raven she really should have, and even if she eventually did, eight hundred was not a winning side. They might be able to tip the balance, but that was also very dubious. She almost felt bad for getting Sansa’s hopes up, like she shouldn’t even have mentioned it in the first place. At first she had planned to tell Jon, but now the idea just felt foolish, and her mouth sealed itself shut every time she found herself riding next to him. </p><p>She doubted House Mormont would be much different. Rather embarrassingly, she remembered little about it from her education beyond “they live on Bear Island”, which wasn’t a particularly good sign. </p><p>As they walked into the hall of the Mormont Keep and saw who they were to be received by, Margaery could hardly say her judgement had been misplaced. </p><p>“Lady Mormont.” Jon dipped his head in recognition. </p><p>“Welcome to Bear Island.”</p><p>Lyanna Mormont couldn’t have been older than thirteen, which left Margaery feeling a little underwhelmed. </p><p>“...I remember when you were born, my lady,” Sansa said warmly. “You were named after my aunt Lyanna. She was a great beauty, and I’m sure you will be too.”</p><p>“I doubt it,” the girl snapped. “My mother wasn’t a great beauty, but she was a great warrior. She died fighting for your brother, Robb.”</p><p>Margaery’s heart sank. There was a harshness in Lyanna’s voice that no thirteen-year-old deserved to carry, and yet far too many thirteen-year-olds did these days. Margaery felt bad for judging her in the first place, and hadn’t even considered what kind of awful situation might result in a girl her age becoming the head of her house. She cursed herself inwardly at that thought. No child should have to be so cynical, see the world in that way at such a young age. </p><p>It would seem that both Jon and Sansa had had similar reactions to that comment, because silence engulfed the room for a moment after the words left her mouth. </p><p>“I served under your Uncle at Castle Black,” Jon said eventually. “He was a great warrior too, and an honourable man. I-”</p><p>“I think we’ve had enough small talk. Why are you here?”</p><p>“...Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was defeated by the Boltons. He showed me the letter you wrote to him, when he petitioned for men, it said-”</p><p>“I remember what it said. Bear Island knows no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark.”</p><p>Margaery wanted to take that as an affirmation of allegiance, but given Jon and Sansa’s still-grim expressions, she suppressed any sign of victory. . </p><p>“Robb is dead, but House Stark is not. And it needs your support now more than ever. I’ve come with my sister to ask for House Mormont’s allegiance.”</p><p>Lady Lyanna turned to one of her advisors, and whispered something in his ear. Margaery made furtive eye contact with Sansa, trying to send the question <em> What is happening? </em>simply through her gaze. </p><p>Sansa looked no more certain about the situation. </p><p>“As far as I understand, you’re a Snow. And Lady Sansa is a Lannister-”</p><p>“I am not a Lannister!” </p><p>Sansa’s voice echoed through the tiny chamber, giving Margaery quite the fright. </p><p>Sansa swallowed awkwardly, trying to diminish her presence. “I did what I had to do to survive,” she said. “I was married to Tyrion Lannister against my will, if I resisted I would have been killed. But only I can choose my loyalty, my true loyalty. I will always be a Stark, no matter what.”</p><p>“Maybe so. But you don’t just want my allegiance. You want my fighting men.”</p><p>“Ramsay Bolton cannot be allowed to keep Winterfell, my lady. It is our duty to stop him, even more so because he holds our brother Rickon Stark as prisoner.”</p><p>Lyanna wasn’t much older than Sansa’s brother Rickon would be, either. Gods, how many children had to suffer for the great houses to play their war games? </p><p>“You have to understand, my lady-”</p><p>“I understand that I am responsible for Bear Island and all who live here. So why should I sacrifice one more Mormont life for someone else’s war?”</p><p><em> Oh. </em>Margaery could feel everyone in the room reeling from that one, because she was right. </p><p>“I…” She started her own sentence, urged on by her emotional response to Lyanna’s words, but she couldn’t quite gather her thoughts together. </p><p>“You what?” </p><p>“...I think you might have slightly misunderstood the situation, my lady.”</p><p>She tilted her head. “Who are you, anyway? I can’t say I recognise you.”</p><p>Oh, shit. <em> Should I lie about my identity?  </em></p><p>She glanced at Sansa, who nodded discreetly. </p><p>“My name is Margaery Tyrell, my lady.”</p><p>One of her maesters scoffed. </p><p>“Something funny?” Margaery raised her eyebrows. </p><p>“You’re the Queen?” He was still laughing, but as she glared at him, the colour slowly drained out of his face. “You’re the <em> Queen? </em>”</p><p>“I am no Queen anymore. I don’t know how much you know about the situation in King’s Landing, but I was driven away from that...terrible city, and chose to ride North with my dear friend Sansa. I thought I’d come here to escape it all, but I found myself tangled up in another conflict. But if I might say, my lady, it’s certainly one worth fighting for.”</p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>Margaery nodded. “There is much I still do not understand about the North, I’m very much a Southern lady myself. But what I do understand is that Winterfell rightfully belongs to House Stark, and I have pledged to do everything in my power to take it back for them.” <em> Please, let me be able to do something to take it back for them. </em>“But I’ve also learned something else, from Jon Snow, something I never thought I’d even believe. When it comes down to it, this isn’t about house versus house. Eventually, it’ll come down to the fight between the living and the dead. And that...terrifies me, beyond even my understanding, which is why I know it’s so important to give the North back to its rightful wardens, and to the people we can actually trust to protect it, who understand what’s really happening. My word shouldn’t mean more to you because I was once Queen. But it should mean that...that this is what is important. For the good of everyone. As long as the North is divided, no one in the Seven Kingdoms stands a chance against them. So please, my lady. I implore you. We all do. Lend us your aid.”</p><p>The words felt strange leaving her mouth, because until a few days ago, she hadn’t believed in them herself. But Jon spoke impassionately about them on the ride south, spoke about all the horrors he had seen as the ghosts of his memories flashed behind his eyes. She certainly hadn’t wanted to believe him, wanted to pretend they were just silly stories told to scare children, but she couldn’t deny it any longer and convince herself that it was all an elaborate lie. No liar could look so haunted. </p><p>Lyanna turned to Jon. “Is this true?”</p><p>Jon nodded solemnly. “Your uncle fought them at the Fist of the First Men. I fought them at Hardhome. We both lost.”</p><p>Lyanna’s expression was unreadable. </p><p>After a few moments of silence and the uncomfortable rustling of armour, she spoke. “House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years. We will not break faith today.”</p><p>Sansa let out a tiny gasp of relief, barely audible to anyone but Margaery. </p><p>“How many fighting men can we expect?”</p><p>“Sixty-two.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh.  </em>
</p><p>“Sixty-two?” Jon asked. </p><p>Lyanna nodded impassively. “We are not a large house, but we are a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders.”</p><p>“We…” Margaery looked awkwardly at Jon and Sansa. “We will have to take your word for it.”</p><p> </p><p>They had no such success with the Glovers. Sansa had sounded so hopeful as they’d ridden east, but when they arrived they were met with nothing but hostility and bitterness. It would seem that the Glovers had not forgiven Robb for abandoning them to ride south and fight the Lannisters, and no matter how hard they tried to convince him their cause was one worth fighting for, they refused to listen to a word they had to say. </p><p>It would seem that they had taken one step forwards, and two steps back. All that time spent travelling, and all they had to show for it were a few hundred extra men here and there. </p><p>They had hardly expected to ride into their encampment as the harbingers of victory and glory, but Margaery just knew that they looked like the picture of dejection and failure. </p><p>Morale was clearly low, and that was hardly helped by the bitter cold. Everything was so grey there, like the life had been sucked out of the world along with their hopes at success. </p><p>“We won’t stay here long,” Jon said, as they dismounted from their horses. “Another storm could hit any day. Davos said that the snows defeated Stannis as much as the Boltons did, and by the looks of it he was right.”</p><p>“Where will we go next?” Sansa asked. </p><p>“We have to march on Winterfell with what we have,” Jon said, and Margaery’s heart sank even lower. “If we wait any longer, it’ll be too late.”</p><p>“We don’t have enough men,” Sansa said. </p><p>“We have all the men we’re going to get.”</p><p>“We can’t just accept defeat! Jon, if we went down to-”</p><p>There was a loud crash, and Jon whipped around, the cloak Sansa had made for him rippling in the wind. </p><p>“Seven hells,” he said, beginning to march towards the commotion, seemingly caused by a few Wildlings fighting over supplies. “Hey! Listen. This is not worth fighting over…”</p><p>Sansa groaned as Jon walked away. </p><p>“He can be so stubborn sometimes,” she said. “So righteous, it’s infuriating. If he’d just <em> listen. </em>”</p><p>“Maybe you could talk to him again later?” Margaery suggested. “I don’t know. I don’t know what any of us can do.”</p><p>The disappointment of their failures hung between them, biting at them like the snow and the wind. </p><p>“We should settle in for the night,” Sansa said. “I think the exhaustion’s getting to me.”</p><p>Their tent was small and cramped, but it was better than sleeping out in the cold, and it provided a little bit of warmth. It was strange how she had grown so accustomed to such harsh conditions now: once she had never imagined sleeping anywhere but a warm bed in a cozy castle, but after being thrown in prison and then forced into dingy inns and haphazard shelters on the way north, she could appreciate the comfort of a tent and a few furs.</p><p>Sansa flopped onto the makeshift bed. “I’d almost forgotten how much riding takes it out of you.”</p><p>Margaery settled down next to her, nestling her head into the warm, comforting flames of Sansa’s hair. </p><p>“Do you think we’re going to win?” Sansa said hollowly. “Be honest.”</p><p>Margaery sighed. “I wish I could say yes.”</p><p>“We can’t just let Ramsay Bolton win,” Sansa said. “He - I don’t even want to think about what he might do if he does.”</p><p>Margaery’s stomach churned at the very mention of it. </p><p>“Is that selfish of me?” Sansa’s blue eyes were wide and pleading. “I know this is about more than just me, that it could decide the fate of the whole world. But what he said, about...about what he was going to do to me...I want to rip my skin off, just thinking about it.”</p><p>“Don’t think about it,” Margaery implored. Not now.”</p><p>She hugged Sansa close, wrapping her arm around her and squeezing tight. Sansa leaned into her, resting her head on her chest. Margaery stroked her hair gently, running her hands through it without dismantling her braid. </p><p>A gust of wind shook the tent, and Sansa clung harder to her. </p><p>“Do you remember what we said to each other, a long time ago? We promised we’d protect each other,” Margaery said. “No matter what. I haven’t always been a woman of my word, but this is one promise I intend to keep for as long as I can.”</p><p>“What if you can’t keep it?” Sansa’s voice was shaky now. “What if neither of us can?” </p><p>“We can try,” Margaery said. She pressed a kiss to Sansa’s head. “We can always try.”</p><p>Sansa leaned up to kiss her on the cheek, and Margaery chuckled sadly. </p><p>“I love you so much,” she said. “Never forget that.”</p><p>“I won’t,” Sansa said, and she shuffled herself up to kiss Margaery delicately on the lips. </p><p>She hadn’t realised how freezing she’d been until she felt Sansa’s warm mouth on hers, and she kissed her back enthusiastically, slipping her tongue past her lips and her hand onto the back of her neck. </p><p>Sansa gave a little satisfied hum, and ventured deeper, the delicateness vanished into need. </p><p>“Lady Sansa?” </p><p>There was a muffled voice at the flap of the tent, but Margaery couldn’t bring herself to listen to it. It faded into the background. </p><p>“Lady Sansa!”</p><p>Sansa leaped off Margaery as a head poked through the flap, and immediately poked back out. </p><p>“Oh, I’m so sorry, my lady.”</p><p>“Ser Davos,” she said. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“I’m terribly sorry.”</p><p>“You can come in,” Sansa said. “We’re not - we weren’t - anyway.”</p><p>Davos entered the tent once more, guilt still in his eyes. He didn’t look disgusted so much as embarrassed at having interrupted them, which was relieving. </p><p>“There’s two letters here for Lady Margaery,” he said. </p><p>It was Margaery’s turn to leap off the bed. “Who from?”</p><p>Davos shrugged. “From Castle Black, but I doubt they were sent from there in the first place. Must have sent them south when they realised you weren’t there.” </p><p>She practically snatched the pieces of parchment out of his hands. “Thank you so much.” </p><p>He nodded. “Again, I’m sorry for, um, disturbing you.”</p><p>“Don’t be,” Margaery said, a smile jumping onto her face. “This could be more important than you know.”</p><p>“I hope so, my lady.” He was troubled too, she could sense it. The dejection had taken a toll on everyone. </p><p>Margaery turned to Sansa as he left. </p><p>“Do you think-”</p><p>“Only one way to find out.”</p><p>“Two letters, though?”</p><p>Margaery shrugged, and ripped open the one on top. </p><p>“It’s...oh.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“It’s from Brienne of Tarth.”</p><p>“Brienne?” Sansa frowned. “What does she want?”</p><p>“I don’t know…” Margaery wasn’t reading the letter properly, her eyes flitting back and forth over the page. </p><p>“What does it say?”</p><p>“Oh. Um…”</p><p>She willed herself to start at the beginning, to focus. </p><p>“Lady Margaery, </p><p>I sincerely hope that you, Sansa, and Loras are well, and that you have made it safely to Castle Black. I am sorry that we had to part on such hasty terms, but I hope that you will be happy to hear that the Faith and the High Sparrows are no longer a threat in King’s Landing. We have successfully taken care of them and the city enjoys a newfound freedom. </p><p>I wish I could do more to protect you and Lady Sansa. I know you are aware of my connection to the Lannisters, but know that that does not change my concern for you, or how much I value our friendship. Please write back to me when you receive this letter, so I know that you are safe. I wish nothing but the best for you and everyone you encounter, and if there is anything I can do to give you that, I implore you that you tell me. </p><p>Yours sincerely, </p><p>Brienne of Tarth.”</p><p>“She must have sent it to Castle Black, thinking we’d still be there,” Sansa said. </p><p>“The Sparrows are out of King’s Landing,” Margaery said. “That’s something, I suppose.”</p><p>“Do you think she has any idea about what’s going on?”</p><p>“I doubt it.”</p><p>There was an uneasiness in Sansa’s expression, her eyes skating over the parchment in Margaery’s hand. </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“...I hope I’m not being too cynical here, but...I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t trust it.”</p><p>“I know Lady Brienne is technically with the Lannisters, but I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a good person, Sansa, and she’s honourable. And she-”</p><p>“I know that. She tried to keep her promise to my mother, even when it could have cost her her life, and I will always be grateful for that. But it’s not her I don’t trust. It’s Cersei.”</p><p>“Cersei?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I just have this image of her, standing over Brienne’s shoulder as she writes, dictating her.” Sansa shook her head. “I know that probably didn’t happen, but…”</p><p>“I know. I’ll never understand how someone like that could ever be friends with someone like Brienne. Remember how they were always together around court?”</p><p>“Do you think they’re actually friends?” </p><p>“Brienne and Jaime were together. Maybe Brienne was just…trying to appease him by playing nice with her. But I think you’re right. She’s...I know the Lannisters aren’t our enemy right now, but whatever we send her could end up in Cersei’s hands. Or worse.”</p><p>Sansa rubbed her hands together, trying to muster up some warmth. “I don’t think we can tell her about the Boltons. If that information falls into the wrong hands, then all this could have been for nothing.”</p><p>Margaery nodded. “Of course. We’ll still have to write back to her, though.”</p><p>Sansa <em> hmm</em>ed in agreement, and the two of them stood there for a second in silence, Margaery pondering what they could possibly write. </p><p>“Shit, the other letter!”</p><p>“Oh, yes!”</p><p>Margaery slid onto the bed and opened the other envelope more carefully. The seal on it was just standard wax, not the Tyrell sigil, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything if they were camped this far north. </p><p>“I almost don’t want to open it,” she confessed. </p><p>“Do you want me to do it?” Sansa offered. </p><p>“No, I…” She fumbled a little with the seal. “Actually, can you?”</p><p>“Of course.” Sansa opened it, her hands shaking too, although noticeably less than Margaery’s own. Perhaps that was just the cold, although that and her nerves had become indistinguishable at this point. </p><p>“And?” Margaery resisted the urge to snatch the letter off her. “What does it say?”</p><p>She perused the page hungrily, and her eyes lit up. “Eight hundred and fifty-nine men...all riding north. From the Tyrell encampment in the Dreadfort...but by the looks of it there’s men coming from all over the place. They’re scattered, like you said, and they’ll take...a week, maybe, to get to Winterfell.”</p><p>The relief struck her immediately, electrifying her like a bolt of lightning. </p><p>“Do you know what this means?” Sansa said, looking up. </p><p>“Almost a thousand more men.”</p><p>“That...that could almost be a winning side.” Sansa threw herself at Margaery, wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you so much.” </p><p>“I didn’t do anything.”</p><p>“Yes, you did.” Sansa pulled away, and cupped Margaery’s face in her hands. “This could make a world of difference, and it’s all thanks to you.”</p><p>“We should tell Jon right away.”</p><p>Sansa’s gaze faltered a little, her head dipping. “I, uh...I’d rather not speak to him right now. He’s been getting on my last nerve lately - I know that sounds childish, but-”</p><p>“That’s fine.” She was speaking quickly, relief giving her a burst of energy she had been severely lacking mere minutes ago. “I’ll go. I know what siblings can be like, believe me.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>Margaery put her cloak back on, flinging her hair out from underneath it hastily. “I’ll be back soon.”</p><p>“Don’t tell him I said he was on my last nerve?”</p><p>“Of course not. Besides, I’m sure he already knows.”</p><p>Sansa chuckled, and handed her the letter. “I’m sure he does.”</p><p>The camp had come to a halt in the darkness, wildlings and soldiers alike retreated into their tents. Renly’s camp had never been so quiet, so still, but perhaps things were different in the North. When it got dark, it got cold, and Margaery could almost feel her bones quivering under her skin. </p><p>Jon’s tent was just across from theirs, and she practically leapt across the cold path, clutching the letter to her chest so the wind didn’t rip it away from her. </p><p>“Jon?”</p><p>“Who’s there?”</p><p>“...Margaery. I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”</p><p>“Come in.”</p><p>She pushed past the flap of the tent. </p><p>Jon’s tent was the same size as her and Sansa’s, and as every other one in the encampment, which struck her as unusual. Renly had always had the largest tent at the centre of the camp, and from what she could tell that was the norm for kings and commanders. </p><p>But Jon was neither a king, nor a commander, she supposed, not anymore. He was just someone trying to do what was best for his people. </p><p>A part of her wondered how someone so honourable had lasted so long. </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I, um…” She glanced at the chair opposite from Jon. </p><p>“Oh, of course. Sit down.” He was smiling amiably, but his eyes were filled with concern. </p><p>“I received a letter just now,” Margaery said. “From an encampment of Tyrell soldiers in the Dreadfort.”</p><p>Jon had been raising his ale to his lips, but he froze mid-action, his hand hovering in the air. “There are Tyrell forces in the North?”</p><p>“A few stragglers from the War of the Five Kings, who hadn’t been recalled just in case conflict flared up again.”</p><p>“When you say a few…”</p><p>“Eight hundred and fifty nine.” She slid the letter across to him. “See for yourself.”</p><p>He practically slammed his flagon onto the table and picked up the letter. He furrowed his heavy brows as he read, muttering the words under his breath. </p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p>“Seriously. Is a week soon enough?”</p><p>Jon nodded. “I think so. Is this...was this a spontaneous offer?”</p><p>Margaery shook her head. “I sent them a letter when we were back at Castle Black, but when they didn’t respond, I thought I was too late. It didn’t occur to me that they’d probably sent it there.”</p><p>“Almost four thousand against five thousand,” Jon said thoughtfully. “That’s…”</p><p>“Almost a winning side?”</p><p>“If we play our cards right.”</p><p>Margaery smiled. “I’m glad I can make some difference in all this.”</p><p>“You got us Bear Island,” Jon said. “I can only thank you for that, too.”</p><p>“I only told her what you’d told me. About the war between the living and the dead.”</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d care.” The words might have sounded vindictive from anyone else. “I mean no offense, Lady Margaery, but I hardly expected you to believe me.”</p><p>“I didn’t think I would, either. And a part of me still doesn’t really want to, but...I’ve been playing this stupid game my whole life, Jon, clawing at people and tearing them down for my own gain. When you said...I don’t even remember what it was, exactly, but it chilled me to the core. Something about how it doesn’t matter who’s sitting on the Iron Throne, or who’s lord of this place or that one, because the real threat is beyond the Wall. That terrified me like nothing else, I think.”</p><p>Jon nodded pensively. “I’m glad I could...have that effect on you. I wish more people would listen to me like that.”</p><p>“People do listen to you, Jon. Trust me, I’ve been married to three kings and none of them were better leaders than you.”</p><p>“Weren’t you married to Joffrey?”</p><p>“...True. But that only goes to show how low the bar is. I mean, you talk to the people out there, the <em> wildlings, </em>and they follow you. Not because they have to, but because they choose you.”</p><p>Jon took a sip of his ale, the flagon reaching his mouth this time. </p><p>He was far too humble. That wasn’t exactly a bad thing - the gods only knew how many people she’d met who could use a good dose of humility, herself included, sometimes - but it struck her as unusual. </p><p>
  <em> I’d probably just been in King’s Landing for far too long.  </em>
</p><p><em> “ </em>Is Sansa angry at me?”</p><p><em> Oh. </em>“Um…”</p><p>“She is, isn’t she?”</p><p>“I don’t think she is. Not really, anyway. It’s been a very stressful time for all of us, but for you two most of all. It’s natural for you to butt heads.”</p><p>He scoffed. “I hope so. I love her, I really do, it’s just...I don’t know. She can be so stubborn sometimes.”</p><p>“Honestly, I don’t blame her. Back in King’s Landing, the Lannisters practically used her as a pawn. I’d be stubborn if I’d gone through what she had.”</p><p>He looked up at her curiously. “You really love her, don’t you?”</p><p>Margaery nodded. “More than anything.”</p><p>“I’m glad she has you. Not that I think she needs my permission, or anyone else’s, to be with anyone, but from what I’ve seen of you, you’re exactly the kind of person I would want her to be with.”</p><p>“I mean, at one point she was going to be married to Joffrey, so I hope I’m somewhat of an improvement. Once again, he sets the bar <em> very </em>low.”</p><p>Jon laughed. “You know, when she was younger, she really did want to marry him.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“She was in love with him. She kept talking about how they were going to get married, and she would be his queen, and they would live happily ever after.” His smile faded. “I feel terrible for her, though. She had all these dreams, all these ideas of what life was going to be like, and the world just crushed all of that for her.” He shook his head. “And if she went through all of that, just for Ramsay Bolton to…”</p><p>“We won’t let that happen to her. I promise.” She looked down at the letter. “And if we lose, I’ll kill him myself. I’ll walk right into Winterfell and snap his neck.”</p><p>Jon gave an awkward chuckle, like he was laughing at a joke he didn’t quite understand the punchline to. </p><p>“I’m not joking,” Margaery said. “Well, I don’t think I could beat him in a fight, or get past his guards, but...if I ever see him, I will choke the life from him straight away.”</p><p>“I think you’d have to beat me to it,” Jon said, perhaps less solemnly than he should have. </p><p>Margaery laughed. It was a little inappropriate, she supposed, but war always brought out this side in people. Laughing in the face of adversity, with your girlfriend’s bastard half-brother who you barely knew, bonding over the desire to kill her would-be husband. </p><p>“Thank you, really,” he said, patting the letter at his side. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”</p><p>Margaery raised her eyebrows. “You don’t have to.”</p><p><em> You will be Lady of Winterfell as much as I will. </em>Sansa’s words came flooding back to her, her promise of some semblance of power if they succeeded. </p><p>But now was not the time to be making negotiations, and she pushed the thought away. She wasn’t here to make grabs at power. She was here to protect Sansa, and by extent, the world. That was a strange thing to think about. She tried not to dwell on it excessively. </p><p>“I’ll find a way,” Jon said. </p><p>The corners of her mouth twitched. “I’m sure you will.”</p><p>She rose from her chair, suddenly painfully aware of the cold again. “Do you want to keep the letter?”</p><p>“If that’s alright.” </p><p>“...I’m glad we had this conversation.”</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>She went to walk out, but Jon spoke up once more.</p><p>“Can you tell Sansa that I’m not angry with her? I think...I think you’re right. We’re just butting heads.”</p><p>She nodded. “Don’t worry. I will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback and comments would be appreciated &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Horror and the Wild</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Starks meet with Ramsay for the first time, and prepare for battle.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Riding south to Winterfell should have felt like going home. Instead, it felt like they were going to their deaths. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, it had become apparent that they couldn’t put it off any longer. Ramsay was waiting for them, and who knew how long he would wait for? They couldn’t give him any more time, because regardless of the support they’d garnered, he still had the upper hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d tried to hold onto the few days they had to prepare once they reached their encampment, but those had slipped through her fingers, and before she knew it she was waking up in Margaery's arms on the day everyone had been dreading. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to come,” Jon said. “You can stay here. Margaery too, if she wants.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa shook her head. “We do this together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked as though he wanted to protest, but he didn’t say another word. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The snow did not fall heavy that morning, and the sun peeked fearfully through the thick cloud layer, the first Sansa had seen of it in weeks. It was as if the weather was giving them a brief respite: a prelude for the worst to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa clenched her chattering teeth as she spotted Ramsay’s men coming across the hills towards them, closing the gap between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery reached out her hand, and she clasped it, stretched across their horses, leaning precariously into one another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were still riding closer. How close was too close?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa dropped Margaery’s hand and straightened herself, trying to look down upon this man with something resembling confidence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he neared them - definitely trying to make them uncomfortable with his proximity - she took the sight of Ramsay Bolton in for the first time. He was a mostly unassuming man: not particularly tall or strong. But there was a look in his eye, and the second he caught her gaze she knew exactly where she’d seen it before. In Joffrey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had that same expression, the same lazy smirk that said they thought the world belonged to them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gripped the reins of her horse. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The world does not belong to you. And neither will I.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must be the Lady Sansa,” he said affably. “I’ve heard a great many things about you. I was told you were a great Northern beauty, with a sharp mind and the brightest smile Lord Baelish had ever seen.” He tilted his head. “Not smiling now, are we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glared at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No matter. I’ll give you plenty to smile about once you belong to me. I cannot express how disappointed I was to hear that you weren’t going to marry me after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His attention turned to Jon. “Thank you for returning what is rightfully mine. Now dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army, and proclaim me Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch. I will pardon all these treasonous lords for betraying my house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was silent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come, bastard. You don’t have the men, you don’t have the horses, and you don’t have Winterfell. Why lead these poor souls into slaughter? There is no need for a battle.” The levelled cold in his tone was more frightening than if he had roared the words at them. “Kneel. I am a man of mercy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right.” Jon’s tone was surprisingly calm: if Sansa had spoken right then, she would have spat every word. “Thousands of men </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to die. Only one of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes widened, and she snapped her head to look at Jon. She saw Margaery do the same, in her peripheral vision. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ramsay only laughed. He wasn’t the sort of man you could reason with, Sansa could tell now. She had hoped that perhaps the sadistic, detached image he had relayed in his letter was an exaggeration, an intimidation tactic. But it seemed as genuine as anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, why, you must be the greatest swordsman who ever walked!” He chuckled again. “Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don’t know if I could beat you, but I know my army could beat yours. I have six thousand men, you have, what, half that? Less?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Tyrell men were coming, they knew that much. But they were waiting back a little, not wanting to give Ramsay the impression that they had more men than they did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, hearing that he had six thousand and not five as they’d thought made Sansa’s heart sink. They still only had half his numbers, half his might. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You may have the numbers,” Jon said. “But will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn’t fight for them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, Jon, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought proudly. Her pride was rather buried in her fear, but it was there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s good,” Ramsay said. “Very good. But tell me, would you let your little brother die simply because you refuse to surrender?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do we know you have him?” Sansa asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was rather hoping you’d ask that.” He turned to one of his men, and gave a knowing nod. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man threw Shaggydog’s decapitated head onto the cold ground, and Sansa’s world slipped away from her for a moment in disgust and shock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swallowed hard, feeling as though she might be sick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now,” he said. “I take it that’s enough evidence for you. If you want to save your little brother, you know what to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We do not surrender, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jon had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We fight for our family, for the North, for the fate of the world. We will not let him win. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they remained silent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No? Nothing?” He glanced between the three of them at the front, and his gaze settled on Margaery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t believe I know your friend,” he said brightly, and Sansa’s blood simmered. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one you’d know,” Margaery said. “Someone who knows that the Starks are the rightful Wardens of the North.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. I think I’ll have you, too. You’re rather pretty, if a little mouthy - oh, but that can be easily fixed, now, can’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed emptily. “I know monsters like you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I know that you think you’re unstoppable. But you’re only a man, no matter how highly you think of yourself. And men are all too easily killed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raised his eyebrows. “So bold. But I’m afraid, “No one you’d know”, that your trust is rather misplaced. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard </span>
  </em>
  <span>knows he cannot win.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon Snow is no more a bastard than you are,” Margaery said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ramsay’s unsettling smirk faltered. That had hit him hard, Sansa could tell, struck him right on the chink in his armour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you refuse my terms of surrender,” he said. “No matter. I did my best to be diplomatic, but you seem to be too stubborn to see sense.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifted in his saddle, drawing himself up. “Perhaps that is not so bad. For me, of course, not for you. You know, my dogs are as desperate to face you as my men are. I haven’t fed them in seven days, they’re ravenous!” A glint entered his eyes, and once again Sansa was reminded of Joffrey’s cruelty, the sick pleasure he gained from seeing her in pain. Her stomach tightened at the thought of belonging to such a monster again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder which part of yours they’ll try first-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really think you’re going to win, don’t you?” Sansa spat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilted his head. “Wouldn’t you, if you were in my position?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I were in your position, I wouldn’t be so foolish. You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton,” Sansa said, hoping the quiver in her voice was somewhat masked. “Sleep well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, ignoring her remark. “In the morning, then, bastard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, he turned around, and trotted away calmly, his men following him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go, then,” Jon said weakly. “We have a lot to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first Sansa had felt proud of herself for standing up to Ramsay like that, for being so brave as to confront him. But with the growing fear of failure gestating in her mind, she was all too aware that she could be entirely wrong, and that it was they who would die tomorrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had little optimism left to afford herself, now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was endlessly frustrating, to sit there in the corner at the war council, unable to make any valuable contribution. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa knew next to nothing about battles. Margaery had even thrown a suggestion or two in, about formations and trenches, things she’d picked up from being at Renly’s camp and talking to Loras, but Sansa didn’t have any of her knowledge or experience. So she’d huddled in the corner, cloak wrapped tightly around herself, mouth clamped shut as Jon and his allies huddled around hastily drawn battle plans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should all get some sleep,” Davos said, after it was clear that there was little more planning they could do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get some rest, Jon Snow. We need you sharp tomorrow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone began to file out, the mood even lower than it had been when they’d entered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery loitered at the doorway when it became clear that Sansa wasn’t going with them. She raised her eyebrows as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>You coming?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa held up a finger. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One moment,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she tried to say, and Margaery nodded before slipping out into the darkness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” she said tentatively, when it was just her and Jon alone in the room, “we’ve met the enemy, and you’ve made your plans.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dragged his eyes away from the battle plans, his hands still resting on the table. “For what they’re worth. Are you alright, Sansa?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head. “Are any of us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stepped over to the table, and peered at them. The strategies themselves made very little sense to her, but looking at the mock-cyvasse pieces on the board, she couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong. The little stone wolves looked defenseless, vulnerable on the vast expanse of board, and even if she imagined little rose pieces behind them, it still felt wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know Ramsay,” she said, “any more than you do. And I wish I could have been more help with the plans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her frown deepened. “But I think I know someone a lot like him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Boltons aren’t like the Lannisters, at least not now Roose is dead. Tywin-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not Tywin Lannister. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Joffrey.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She looked up at Jon and met his eyes, hoping she was conveying what she meant to say properly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, I’d imagine they’re quite similar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head. “That look in his eyes...when he made eye contact with me, it made me realise exactly what we’re up against. I knew Joffrey, Jon. You think you know these people through battles and rumours and tactics, but you don’t really, not until you see them in person. He’s...cruel, Jon. Crueller than he is clever, and that’s going to drive his plans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you? Because you seem to be underestimating just how far he’s willing to go. You’re an honourable man, Jon, more than any I’ve ever known, but that’s blinding you to the possibilities here. Joffrey never appreciated any of the rules, what you’re supposed to do, and that was without even commanding his own army. You don’t know what to expect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon raised his eyebrows as she spoke, seeming to take her words as an affront. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remember when Father died, Jon? None of us could have seen that coming, and that’s what people like them do. They don’t care about the consequences, and that’ll make the consequences worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate your concern, Sansa, I really do, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took a deep, frustrated breath. “You’re expecting him not to play dirty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I’m not-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are. You seem to think he’s going to fall into your trap. Did it occur to you that he’s the one who’ll be setting the traps here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, what do you suggest, then?” His voice came out louder than he must have intended, because he looked surprised as the words left his mouth. “How do we get Rickon back, get our home back-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not getting Rickon back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s face fell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, it hurts, but it’s the truth. Rickon is a trueborn Stark, a boy, and he’s more of a threat to Ramsay than you or me. Ramsay is just using him as bait, and once he’s got you where he wants you, he won’t live long.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t just give up on our brother-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know how much I wish I didn’t know that? I want to be back in Winterfell with what’s left of our family as much as you do, Jon, but we have to face up to the truth, no matter how much it hurts us. He wants you to make a mistake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, then, what should I do differently?” They were both shouting now. Both of them were wound extremely tight, that was obvious, and this was definitely the wrong time to unravel, but Sansa couldn’t help it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know! I don’t know anything about battles. Just don’t do what he wants you to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He all but </span>
  <em>
    <span>chuckled </span>
  </em>
  <span>at that, and her blood boiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think that’s obvious?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it is a bit obvious, isn’t it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He knows we’re weak. Even with the Tyrell men, we still hardly have half of what he has.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Battles have been won against greater odds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s what you’re relying on? Luck?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that’s all we have!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe we should have waited longer-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have any more time!” Jon roared, and Sansa stumbled back. “We’ve got all the support we’re going to get. The longer we wait, the more of an advantage he gets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clenched her teeth. “You’re obviously missing the point.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what is your point, then, if I’m missing it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t underestimate him. I know that’s easy to say and think, but you’re not putting it into practise. We can absolutely expect the worst from him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon sighed. “We’re clearly both very tired. I get what you’re saying, really, I do, but go to bed, Sansa. Please. We both need some rest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it. I’ll do my best to take what you said to heart. Now, go, please, for your own sake and mine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She seethed silently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No you won’t. Those are empty words, Jon. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she didn’t have the energy for a further argument. He was right, her head was beginning to spin with nervous exhaustion, and they would only wear each other down further. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she backed down, despite the growing dread in her gut. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery waited patiently outside the tent for Sansa, clutching her thick furs around her shoulders. The snow was beginning to fall: it would be a cold, cold night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright, Lady Margaery?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?” She tore her gaze away from the ground. “Oh, Ser Davos. Yes, I’m fine, just waiting for Sansa.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He harrumphed. “Funny thing I’ve noticed about highborn men and women. They never say how they’re actually feeling when they’re asked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed a little. “You’re right, we don’t. In that case, I’m terrified out of my mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.” His voice was warm and comforting, and even if the fact that he’d previously served Stannis still set her on edge a little too much, she was still grateful for his friendly presence. “I can never sleep the night before a battle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think we stand a chance?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gruff voice behind her made both Margaery and Davos turn around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure,” Margaery said. She couldn’t quite remember the man’s name, his only defining feature being his red hair. “I don’t know much about battles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seemed to know a little in there.” He gestured towards the tent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think, Tormund?” Davos asked. Tormund - that was it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen the Boltons fight. But they’ve never seen us Free Folk fight. I think there’s hope.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery nodded. “I’m inclined to agree.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tormund gestured to Davos. “You want to avenge your king, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Margaery hadn’t been masking her emotions, her eyebrows would have shot right up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t the Boltons who killed Stannis,” Davos said. “It was Stannis himself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That sounded like Stannis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I loved the man. He lifted me up and made me something. But he had demons in his skull, whispering foul things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think so?” Margaery asked. “I - I mean no offense to his memory, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, my lady. He was troubled, far too troubled to be a king. I, uh, I hope our past conflict of interest can be put behind us now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.” She smiled brightly. “We’re on the same side now, and I bear no resentment towards you. You were simply...fighting for what you believed in. And I’m sorry I reacted in that way when I saw Lady Melisandre.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh…” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I don’t blame you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t like her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos cast his eyes down, the motion relaying a thousand terrible stories to her. “She did...something I can never forgive. Well, she did many a terrible thing, but this is war, none of us are saints. But what she did…” He shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to talk about it,” Margaery said. “That’s alright. But I can’t understand why Jon trusts that woman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think he does. He knows better, I think. Still…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. The best I can say is, better she be on our side than against us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you see these demons?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tormund’s rough voice broke through the tension. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stannis’s demons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos made confused eye contact with Margaery for a moment, his brow deeply furrowed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” Davos said. “No. He didn’t have actual demons. It’s just a, uh, manner of speaking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah.” He sounded almost disappointed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A loud noise coming from the tent - Jon’s bellowing voice - broke the silence and diverted Margaery’s attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have any more time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They must have been having another argument, Margaery realised, as Jon’s voice echoed through the brittle night air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three of them stared awkwardly at the tent as their muffled voices continued to rage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need a good drink to help me sleep,” Tormund said. “Want to join me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds lovely,” Margaery said, “but I, uh, need to wait for my friend.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tormund raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Your friend?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose rumours travel quickly around camps, don’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They do indeed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you and Lady Sansa been together long?” Davos asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Much longer than it seems to me - though I think we were in love with each other even longer than that.” Her voice took on a wistful tone, all of a sudden, as she remembered exactly what she had to lose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos seemed to pick up on this, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I promise. We will do everything we can to keep her safe. I know what it’s like to lose the one you love - I won’t let that happen to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As will I.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Neither of us can keep that promise, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa emerged from the tent all of a sudden, hands tucked tight in her pockets and shoulders slumped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa!” Margaery began to walk towards her. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa sucked in a breath. “It was a stupid argument. We’re both far too tired to be fighting like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery wrapped a comforting arm around Sansa’s shoulder. “I think we could all use some rest right about now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A voice floated into Sansa’s hazy, half-asleep mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened her eyes. It was all but dark outside, the sun not yet threatening to rise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery was sat upright next to her. She had unrolled a piece of parchment in her hand, and a raven was sitting at the now-opened entrance to their tent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rubbed her eyes. “What is it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Tyrell men,” Margaery said breathily. “They’re waiting for us, a few miles north of Winterfell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn’t been able to give direct battle plans to these remote troops, because of the very present fear of interception. Sansa and Margaery would have to go there directly, not lead them into battle per se, but guide them as best they could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery got out of bed, packing a satchel together. “If we want to get there before sunrise, we need to leave now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery turned around, and nodded decisively. “Right now.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I would love to hear your feedback or thoughts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Raised by Wolves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The battle between Jon and Ramsay commences, as Sansa and Margaery rally the Tyrell forces to their side.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sky bloomed red that early morning. Sansa could hardly help but feel as though it was a bad omen, that the sky bled down upon them as they rode towards the Tyrell encampment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Boltons were under the same sky, too, though. Either way, one thing was certain: blood would be shed before the sun set again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Tyrell men, scattered and uncertain as they had once been, were now crowded together in a single encampment a dozen or so miles from Winterfell. It was still early, but as Sansa and Margaery rode into the camp, they were already up and about, making preparations for the battle ahead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These were men who hadn’t fought in years, Sansa realised as their weary faces came into focus. If they had remained in the North in case of future conflict, they must have been much weaker troops than the ones around Highgarden. Not quite worth the return journey, a final line of defense for the Tyrells should things once again turn sour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Final line of defense </span>
  </em>
  <span>seemed about right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your Grace,” one of the men said, bowing as he recognised Margaery. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He must be the commander, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa realised, </span>
  <em>
    <span>or whatever the highest authority they have here is. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery didn’t correct him as she had others, clearly wanting to maintain her former authority as queen. “I’m sorry we were slightly delayed on our way here. I take it you’re ready to leave for Winterfell?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His expression faltered, looking momentarily uncertain. “We-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you!” a harsh voice from a distance away said, being dragged out of a tent. “I am not…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His words were lost to the wind, but a few others crowded up around him as he argued with another soldier, the two of them roaring in each other's faces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, Your Grace,” the commander said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this about?” Margaery asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nothing,” he protested. “Just some...unrest we’ve been experiencing lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unrest?” Sansa raised her eyebrows as panic began to flood her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, look who it is,” the man from the tent said, glaring at her with contempt. “Sansa Stark, isn’t it? Over there, with the red hair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa is my dear friend,” Margaery said indignantly. “You will-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are Tyrell men,” he said, shouting at her from quite some distance. “We do not fight for the King in the North-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is no </span>
  <em>
    <span>King in the North</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Sansa said. “Jon is no king, and I’m not a queen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Either way, we don’t fight for you.” A few men nodded in agreement, and Sansa shrank back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Margaery said. “You fight for-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She might have been about to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Tyrells </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>the good of the Seven Kingdoms, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she was cut off by more unrest and jeering. This man clearly wasn’t an outlier in his opinion, although the majority of the men remained silent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa inhaled sharply as the noise slowly died down. “We are-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ay, we know who you are.” Another man spoke up this time, much closer to them. “ We fought against you, in the War of the Five Kings. So why should we fight for you now? Our loyalties are not like yours, Lady Stark. They don’t change like the wind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is not about house loyalty!” Margaery’s voice rang out against the cold air. “You are Tyrell men. You pledged yourselves to House Tyrell, and to me. I am not a commander, or a warrior. And I’m certainly not a queen anymore. But you still owe your loyalty to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> All eight hundred and fifty nine of them must have been listening to her now, paused from their preparations and conversations.“But this is so much more than that. This battle might be for Winterell, but the Boltons cannot win, because they cannot be trusted to protect the Seven Kingdoms from the true danger. The enemy beyond the Wall.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “The army of the dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second those words left her mouth, the hubbub resumed again. Some men rolled their eyes, looked at each other in confusion, accused Margaery of being insane. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s next?” the rowdy man from the tent asked. “Ramsay Bolton leading an army of grumpkins?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You believe I would lie to you?” Margaery asked. “I am still the daughter of your liege lord. House Tyrell supports House Stark in its endeavours, now. And I am as loyal to you as you are to me. I have never seen a White Walker. But I know men who have, and these are not the type of men who would lie to me. I don’t know what I can say to convince you.” She swallowed hard, clearly distressed at this unexpected obstacle. Sansa’s mind was racing too, beginning to become conscious of how little time they had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you fight with me today, you do so for the good of Westeros. But I will not force you to fight for me. I will not stoop to the level of the monsters we oppose. So if you wish to leave, you are free to go. Turn tail and hide in your tents, I don’t care. You will be a coward and a fool, but I will not punish you for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa glanced at Margaery uncertainly. That was a risky move if she’d ever seen one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Margaery was not one to take uncalculated risks. She kept her eyes on the soldiers, and Sansa did the same, the two of them threatening them, challenging them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dissenter threw his hands up and walked away. So did a few others from the back, glancing at each other and plodding back to their tents. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the majority stayed rooted to the spot. Some looked unsure. Some looked afraid. Some looked proud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But all of them looked up at Sansa and Margaery, unmoving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa allowed the corners of her mouth to twitch into a smile as Margaery looked over at her. A flutter of pride filled her chest as their eyes met. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you follow us into battle against the Boltons?” the commander roared at his men. “Will you take back Winterfell for the good of the Tyrells and the Seven Kingdoms?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The respondent shout wasn’t the most enthusiastic Sansa had heard. But it was good enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gather yourselves, and ride with me. The battle will be beginning soon, and we haven’t a second to spare.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She and Sansa began to turn around as the men mounted their horses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In another life,” Sansa remarked, “you would make an excellent commander.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So would you,” Margaery said thoughtfully. “But I’m not the one leading anyone into battle today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa glanced nervously at the rising sun peeking over the horizon - no longer red, fading into a sickly orange colour and looming ever higher in the sky. She had never thought of the sun as looming before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to leave,” she said, gripping the reins of her horse. “Now. If we’re going to get there in time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon might be awake now, making preparations and rallying his men. But he was on the other side of their battlefield-to-be, and it was likely that the battle would begin before they even got there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t matter, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, trying desperately to ease the clammy shaking of her hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Boltons don’t know about these troops, as far as we know. We can take them by surprise and add to the numbers. I can’t think it’s too late. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she did. As her horse broke into a canter, she dreaded that they were already fighting a lost cause. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They first caught a glimpse of the battle as they crested a particularly high and stony hill. Sansa’s stomach lurched as she saw it - thousands of men charging at each other, hacking and slashing and dying.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She and Margaery were riding near the back of the men, and both of them urged their horses to go faster the second they caught sight of the bloody battle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go, go, go!” Margaery urged, and the men around her did the same, eight hundred of them riding even faster into the belly of the beast, hooves thumping on the cold earth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They rode together like a whirlwind. One that couldn’t possibly make it in time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The terrain was particularly uneven there, and they caught intermittent glimpses of the battle itself, but could hardly make out what was going on. That didn’t matter, at least at first: they had to focus on getting there, before they could worry about what was happening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was, at least, until the battle came to a sudden halt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of a sudden, there was no movement. No wild, vicious fighting. Just...stillness. A strange evenness. Sansa hadn’t seen many battles, but she knew they weren’t supposed to look like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frost cracked over her veins, a chilling trepidation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” Margaery panted next to her. The high speed was beginning to wear all of them out, she could tell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Sansa replied. “Do you think we’re going to make it in time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Margaery’s eyes said. But she said “We have to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes began to water from the harsh wind, and her vision blurred. But as they neared, she could make out some details. The giant knocking men to the side. The strange circular shape the battle had taken. And a mass of -</span>
  <em>
    <span> something</span>
  </em>
  <span> - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bodies, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she realised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They have the Starks surrounded!” the Tyrell commander roared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Starks are surrounded. We’re surrounded. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the Boltons had not won yet. She wished she could make Jon out in the mass - she wouldn’t allow herself to entertain the idea that he was dead, likely as it was - and scream out to him, tell him hope was not lost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone at the front sounded a horn, and the sound echoed through the chilly air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It filled Sansa with some empty substitute for determination. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa, we need to pull back,” Margaery said. “Or we’ll get pulled into the fighting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“PULL BACK!” she roared. They’d crested the last hill now - they were descending down towards the battle. There was nothing between them and the fighting. She could almost make out Ramsay Bolton’s face, imagining his eyes were wide with terror at the sight of the Tyrell soldiers, the green and gold banners fluttering against the sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gripped her reins tighter and pulled her horse to a stop, she and Margaery standing still together at what felt like the edge of the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Tyrell men were small in number, perhaps not the most impressive force. But they broke through the Boltons like a drowning man through the surface, the Stark men gasping for air as they were freed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They cut down the Boltons one by one, their strategies clearly not taking a surprise attack into account. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ramsay had set his traps. But he had underestimated them. He hadn’t realised that maybe, just maybe, they could set traps of their own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And theirs had not come of cruelty or oppression, she thought as the clang of metal on metal continued to fill her ears. The Tyrells had </span>
  <em>
    <span>chosen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fight for her and Margaery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re winning,” Margaery said breathlessly. “Look.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>She was right. </span> <span>For a few moments it had been unclear who would win and who would lose, but Sansa could tell the Boltons were outmatched, if not quite outnumbered. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Now that was a winning side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flickered up to the opposite hillside, where -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look,” she said suddenly, her breath catching in her throat. “Ramsay’s retreating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and three of his men turned away, riding over the hill, no one coming away from the battle to stop him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Margaery said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What a coward,” Sansa said bitterly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You realise what this means?” Margaery said. “He’s not surrendering. The battle might be won, but the war is not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll surrender soon enough,” Sansa said. “He’s going to Winterfell. We’ll follow him there. And if he doesn’t, he won’t live long enough to regret it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She caught sight of Jon, momentarily, in the diminishing chaos. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her, didn’t try to motion at him. He was caked in blood and mud, and he looked thoroughly worn out, but he was alive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jon’s alive. Jon’s alive, and we are winning. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked tentatively at the hill, which Ramsay was just cresting. Her stomach filled with anticipation once again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So far, that is.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should follow him,” she said. “This isn’t over yet.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until the Stark banners unfurled against the castle walls a few days later that the tension curdling inside Sansa finally dulled, and Winterfell finally felt like home again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ramsay had retreated to Winterfell, all smug and sure that the gods were still smiling on him. He must have thought he was safe behind those walls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t counted on a giant being able to tear the gates down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching Jon beat him into a bloody pummel had been extremely satisfying. She hadn’t thought her brother would have it in him, to kill Ramsay in such a slow and violent way, but it was what he deserved for what he had done to their family, to their home. And what he had threatened to do to Sansa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was all over now, and Sansa felt for the first time in months like she could finally exhale,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She and Margaery stood in the courtyard as the banners went up, arms linked tightly as ever, watching as the snow flitted to the ground and Winterfell was returned to its rightful owners. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It might have been freezing cold out there, but Sansa’s heart was warm with pride. And love. Mostly love, she thought, as she glanced at Margaery’s soft, happy face and felt the tight squeeze of her hand on her arm. Margaery’s grip was lethal, she clung to Sansa’s arm like she would die if she let go. But it wasn’t as if Sansa was complaining. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon received a raven from Oldtown,” she said, running her hand up Margaery’s arm in comfort. “Winter is officially here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s about time,” Margaery said. “You Starks have been saying it was coming since time immemorial.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” she said, a grin appearing on her face, “it means that when it does come, we get to say we told you so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery laughed, a tinkling sound ringing out through the courtyard. “I suppose it does.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stood there for a few moments, admiring the Stark banner. It looked so right against the grey walls of Winterfell, like home hadn’t really been home until it was up again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know this isn’t over,” Margaery said. “We don’t just get to sit down and relax now, I know that. There’ll be worse to come.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa sighed. “There will be,” she said. “But we’ll face it together. You, me, Jon, all of us. Father always used to say the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery smiled. “I love that. I wish the Tyrells had such lovely sayings. All we have is ‘growing strong.’ Not the most formidable of sayings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s true, though,” Sansa said. “You’ll…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A flash of blue from the corner of her eye caught her attention as they walked past the icy remnants of the garden. She whipped her head around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa knelt down to pick it up, run her hand along its soft petals. “A winter rose,” she said. “I didn’t think they grew here anymore. My aunt Lyanna loved them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful,” Margaery said, bending down to look at it. A snowflake fell gently onto it, caressing it delicately as Sansa had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” she said. Careful as ever, not wanting to dent the beautiful, lonely flower, she held it up and plucked it from its stem. “Take it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. It’s only right.” She handed it to Margaery. “Besides. It’s just like you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beautiful but incredibly cold from the snow?” Margaery chuckled as she pulled her cloak tighter around her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beautiful,” Sansa laughed, “and </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A rose that blooms in winter. And it’s yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I put it in my hair?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa grinned. “You don’t have to ask me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re the Lady of Winterfell now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” she said, holding Margaery’s empty hands in hers, the leather of their gloves sliding against each other, “your lady permits you to wear your rose in your hair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery blushed, her already pink cheeks deepened by the cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, let me.” Sansa plucked the rose off its stem and tucked it behind Margaery’s hair, tenderly winding what was left of the stem around a strand of her hair. “There you are. And remember, you’re the Lady of Winterfell now, too. In honour of your service to the Starks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s only an honorary title,” Margaery protested. “I’m not a Stark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Sansa said, delicately tucking a stray strand of Margaery’s hair behind her ear, fixing the rose in place, “you’ll always be </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> lady.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery chuckled. “Cliche.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stared into each others’ eyes, icy blue reflected twice over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Margaery breathed. “So much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s mouth stretched itself into a smile so wide her cheeks burned. “I love you too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled Margaery into a soft kiss, her warm hands on her cold cheek as their lips met. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The snow fell gently around them in their embrace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sansa?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa jumped halfway out of her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon,” she said, trying to laugh it off as she awkwardly pulled away from Margaery. “What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could see Margaery smirking out of the corner of her eye, but elected to ignore it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re, uh, meeting in the Great Hall. With the rest of the Northern lords. Are you coming?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Sansa said, trying to sound official and measured. Like the Lady of Winterfell would. “We’ll be there in a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded appreciatively, and ducked back inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Margaery said. “We’d better sort this all out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will,” Sansa said. “I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You cannot expect Tyrell soldiers to side with Wildling invaders!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We didn’t invade. We were invited!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa winced as the hall was filled with angry chatter. The noise echoed off the wooden walls, making it all feel rather overwhelming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery was seated beside her, at the high table at the end of the hall. This had been where her father had held audience with various Northerners, she remembered from her childhood. That felt like an age ago now, like she could have been thirteen in the time of Aegon the Conqueror and her life since then had lasted three hundred years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon stood up, the legs of his chair scraping unpleasantly against the floor and bringing the arguments to a standstill. “The Free Folk, the Northerners and the Tyrell men all fought bravely, fought together, and we won. My father used to say, we find our true friends on the battlefields-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know about you,” one Tyrell soldier said, standing up suddenly, “but I hear that this winter will be the coldest in a thousand years. And let me tell you, I won’t be sticking around long enough to find out just how cold the northern winds blow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few men nodded in agreement. The conversation began to rise again, a tide coming back up the shore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did the words I said to you mean nothing?” Margaery chastised. “I told you all what you were fighting for. Yet now you would turn your back on me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one protested. At least, no one spoke up. She glared into the depths of the dimly lit hall in authoritative silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I meant what I said, back there, three days ago. I will not force you to stay. But if you do, if you stay and fight for the good of the realm, you will be doing the right thing. You will be fighting for the Tyrell cause.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what is this cause, exactly?” he scoffed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know exactly what it is,” Margaery said. “The war against the dead.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at Jon, who nodded in approval. “Lady Margaery is right. We-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is not our lady!” A minor northern lord stood up suddenly in protest. “She’s a southerner! We do not bow-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“North and south do not matter anymore,” Jon said, his voice booming even louder. “The war is not over, and our true enemy will bring a greater storm than we can ever imagine. If we do not stand together, we will fall apart. We have to overlook our petty divisions and unite.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa prayed that his words would ring out, silencing the naysayers and rousing a hopeful cheer. But they had no such effect. The hubbub grew louder than ever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She threw her hands up in frustration. “This is useless. We’ll never come to an agreement.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Jon,” Margaery said. “I really thought…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her words trailed off as none other than Lyanna Mormont stood up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t make much of an impact with her rising, hardly towering over the Northern lords, but when she spoke, they fell silent and stopped to listen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Manderly.” She glared at the offending lord, who looked at the ground guiltily. “Your son perished at the Red Wedding. And yet you refused the call.” She turned around to glance at Lord Glover. “You pledged allegiance to House Stark, but in their hour of need, you refused the call.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What is she doing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa made uneasy eye contact with Margaery, the two of them trying to discern Lyanna’s intentions as she spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“House Mormont remembers,” she said decisively. “The North remembers! We know no king, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A swell of pride began to rise within Sansa as she turned towards Jon. His eyes began to widen, and they met hers, filling with panic for a moment as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who, me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care if he’s a bastard,” Lyanna said. “Ned Stark’s blood runs through his veins. He’s my king, from this day until his last day!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like that girl,” Margaery muttered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa chuckled wistfully. “Me too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lady Mormont speaks harshly.” Lord Manderly turned every head in the room as his gruff voice filled the stuffy air. “And truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn’t think we’d find another king in your lifetime. I didn’t want to commit more men to your cause. I didn’t want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But I was wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa saw something resembling a smile flicker across Jon’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon avenged the Red Wedding,” Lord Manderly said triumphantly. “He is the White Wolf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He unsheathed his sword, the cold steel shining bright in the candlelight, and raised it aloft. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The King in the North!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His words were not met by a rousing cheer. Only one man rose. Lord Glover, this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did not fight beside you on the field,” he said. “And I will regret that, until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord,” Jon said. Muttering began to fill the room again, but this time it was not disparaging or argumentative. It was filled with something like hope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There will be more fights to come,” Glover continued. “House Glover will serve House Stark, as we have for a thousand years. And I will stand behind Jon Snow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Metal ground against metal as he raised his own sword. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The King in the North!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pride continued to swell, building and building as more and more men seemed to nod in agreement and reach for their own swords. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The King in the North!” another lord said, and another, and another. All at once, the entire room had risen, swords raised to the sky with strong, defiant grips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The King in the North!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon rose slowly. Sansa could see his hands shaking as he got up, clutching the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seven hells,” Margaery muttered. “What does this mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It means,” Sansa said, looking proudly out at the crowd, “that we stand together. All of us, united behind Jon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The King in the North,” Margaery muttered under her breath. “That’s...incredible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is,” Sansa said. “And I can’t think of a better man for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of a sudden, Margaery was clutching her hand again, squeezing it tightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa didn’t say anything. She just grinned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rose was still in Margaery’s hair, practically glowing in the dim light.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa grinned right back, and held her hand even tighter, never wanting to let go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If all went well, she wouldn’t have to. They would continue to stand together, to protect themselves and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, to set things right. They would do it together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The King in the North! The King in the North!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. There's a Second Wind Coming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Margaery and Sansa enjoy a winter morning together, which is cut short by the arrival of some welcome guests. Jon and Sansa butt heads over Jon's authority, and they receive a troubling and confusing letter from the South.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In case you're not caught up on Green-Eyed Monsters (which is absolutely fine), Tommen abdicated the throne and gave it to Myrcella, who then decided to hand it over to Cersei. At this point, Cersei is queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and Daenerys is on her way over, but Cersei is in a very different position to the one she's in in canon, and is a little more...uh. Reasonable? <br/>Also, if you are reading Green-Eyed Monsters, from here onwards (and Chapter 30 in GEM) I would recommend reading their chapters in alternating order, because what happens in each fic is a lot more closely linked. I'm still glad I separated the action into two separate fics, but there's a little more overlap between the two now. <br/>Anyway, sorry for all the preamble. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The mornings were darker, now, and when the late sun rose, it came up behind grey, spiteful clouds. The sun no longer streamed in Sansa and Margaery’s window as it came up, and blinking awake in the morning now felt rather like being roused in the middle of the night. </p><p>A shapeless mass of brown and pink came into her vision as she slowly opened her eyes, vision still clouded with sleep. She rubbed her eyes dreamily, trying to clear away the fog.</p><p>Oh. It was Margaery. She chuckled at her drowsy foolishness. <em> What else was it going to be, Sansa? </em></p><p>She looked so beautifully peaceful while she was asleep, like a princess in a painting, a maiden in a story. </p><p>For so long, Sansa had been captivated by the women in those stories, their fragile beauty and the way they were encapsulated in an image forever, still and perfect. But she’d learned lately, that no matter how awful real life could become, it was preferable to any story, and certainly more unpredictable.  Margaery wasn’t fragile or perfect, and she was neither princess nor maiden, but she was a thousand times better than any fictional damsel Sansa could have imagined. </p><p>“Are you watching me sleep?” Margaery muttered, a smile slowly appearing on her face. </p><p>Sansa recoiled. “I’m sorry, I thought you were-”</p><p>“It’s alright.” Margaery slowly opened one blue eye, winking up at Sansa. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it for a little while longer.”</p><p>“Tired?”</p><p>“Not tired. I just...really don’t want to get up right now.” She hummed, and wriggled her head into the pillow. “It’s so cosy here.”</p><p>“Don’t get up, then,” Sansa said. She held her hand out, and gently stroked the side of Margaery’s face. Her skin was so soft and warm, and Sansa just wanted to feel every inch of it, hold her in her hand and draw in that warmth forever<em> . </em>Her fingers felt heavy and drowsy as she ran them across her cheek. “Let’s stay here.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t that be nice.” Margaery shut her eyes and pressed herself against Sansa’s fingertips, like a happy cat being stroked in the sun. “No White Walkers, no Lannisters, no war or death. Just you, and me, lying in bed together, all nice and warm under the furs no matter how cold the wind blows.”</p><p>Sansa couldn’t help but laugh brightly at that, a wistfulness blossoming in her chest at the mere thought of a life like that. “That <em> would </em>be nice. If only.”</p><p>Margaery opened her eyes again, and chuckled. </p><p>“What’s so funny?” </p><p>“Your hair,” Margaery said. “It’s all sticking up now. Here, let me…”</p><p>She smoothed it down, running her hand gently through it. </p><p>“There we go,” she said. “Gods, I love your hair. It’s like fire.”</p><p>She pressed the most delicate of kisses to Sansa’s nose. “I love everything about you.”</p><p>Sansa took Margaery’s face in both her hands and pulled her mouth down to her lips, pressing into her passionately.</p><p>Margaery made a pleased little hum as Sansa’s tongue pushed past her lips. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” she muttered, her mouth still pressed against hers. </p><p>Sansa giggled. “Can’t I give you a kiss?” </p><p>“Of course you can,” Margaery said. “But someone’s awfully...enthusiastic.”</p><p>Sansa raised her eyebrows, and drew a little way away from Margaery. “Enthusiastic?”</p><p>“Yes, enthusiastic.” Margaery moved her lips down to Sansa’s neck, and Sansa let out a little sigh of pleasure as she grazed her teeth momentarily against her skin. “Almost like you want something.”</p><p>“I want you,” Sansa said, grinning. </p><p>Her eyes widened as she realised what that sounded like. “I didn’t mean it like that.”</p><p>Margaery looked up at her, blue eyes pooling with disappointment. “You don’t?”</p><p>“No - well. Not if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“But you do?” </p><p>“I don’t want you to think you have to do anything-”</p><p>“Have to?” Margaery’s lips parted in concern, showing the slightest glimpse of her white teeth. “I would love to.”</p><p>“Sorry,” she said. “I’m still terrible at all this.”</p><p>“Don’t even apologise,” Margaery said. “I love that you ask. It shows you care about what I want.”</p><p>“I don’t suppose either of us are used to that,” Sansa said. </p><p>Margaery pressed another little kiss to her neck. “We’ll get used to it,” she said. “Starting now.” </p><p>Sansa nodded. “I want you to.”</p><p>Margaery beamed, and immediately pressed her warm lips back to Sansa’s skin. She kissed her way down Sansa’s collarbone, every mere touch electrifying Sansa’s whole body. She was nowhere near the meeting of her thighs, and yet Sansa was already clutching gently at her sheets, breathing more and more heavily. </p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” Margaery said. “I could spend the whole morning just kissing every inch of you.”</p><p>“Me too,” Sansa breathed, as she saw the top of Margaery's head descend further down her body.</p><p>Margaery flicked her tongue across Sansa’s inner thigh, and she gasped. </p><p>“Oh, gods,” she muttered. Her knuckles must have been white by now. </p><p>“Hmm?” The vibrations from Margaery’s voice resonated against her centre, and she squirmed, but Margaery didn’t touch her there, not yet. </p><p>“Please,” Sansa said. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”</p><p>Margaery just kissed her thigh again, her fingers resting on Sansa’s stomach. </p><p>Desire curled up inside Sansa as she tried to rub her thighs together, buck up into Margaery, do something, but it was all for naught. She couldn’t quite reach that sensation she needed so badly, craved with every fiber of her being. </p><p>Her hand came away from her sheets unbidden, and buried itself in Margaery’s hair. She yanked her head upwards and towards her cunt, pressing herself against Margaery’s face. </p><p>Margaery purred in satisfaction, and arched her head back, making Sansa pull it up further. </p><p>She liked to do this sometimes, to tease and frustrate Sansa on purpose, to push her to the edge so that Sansa would push right back and be a little rougher with her. Sansa was still learning what she liked, having much less experience than Margaery, but from the experience she had she could say with absolute certainty that she <em> loved </em>it when Margaery did that. </p><p>Margaery pressed her tongue into Sansa’s folds, and the rest of the world melted away. As Margaery worked her clever mouth, she could vaguely hear herself whimpering and sighing, but wasn’t quite aware of what she was doing. All she could see was the canopy of their bed, and even that was quickly blurring as hot tight pleasure began to build up in her core. </p><p>She gripped Margaery’s hair tighter, and Margaery herself let out a moan, continuing to bury herself into Sansa’s cunt. </p><p><em> You’re so good with your tongue, </em>she tried to say, but words were becoming difficult, and it came out as more of an “Ahhh oh gods oh gods you’re so-”</p><p>Then Margaery’s teeth grazed ever so gently against her clit, and she lost whatever semblance of rational thought she might have had. The world went black as her stomach grew tighter, Margaery’s pretty little tongue working her higher and higher and -</p><p>She squeezed her eyes shut as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her, her mouth stretched so wide it almost hurt. She writhed against Margaery’s mouth as she gasped, uncontrollably bucking into her. </p><p>Margaery kept dutifully licking until Sansa came back down again. </p><p>“Are you alright?” she asked. </p><p>Sansa blinked her eyes open, and the corners of the world were still blurry. “Seven hells,” was all she could say. “Whoah.”</p><p>“Was it good?”</p><p>“It was phenomenal,” she breathed. “Sorry if I ripped your hair out.”</p><p>“Are you joking?” Margaery laughed. “That was the best part.”</p><p>“It was?”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” she purred. “I wouldn’t mind if you did that more often.”</p><p>“I’ll have to remember that.”</p><p>She lay there for a moment, looking up at the canopy, then chuckled. “You are <em> so </em>good at that.” </p><p>“Well…” Margaery smirked. “I can only hope to get better with practise.”</p><p>“If you get any better I’ll be climaxing before you even touch me.”</p><p>“That’s the goal.” She shuffled herself up to a sitting position, still reclining on their mattress, leaning against Sansa’s legs.</p><p>“I can’t tell if that’s woken me up or made me want to go to sleep again,” Sansa chuckled, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Either way, what a way to start the day off.”</p><p>She did her best to smooth down her hair as she lay there, knowing she should probably get up and get ready but hardly wanting to move an inch. </p><p>Margaery sat up on the bed and peered out of the window. “It’s still snowing.”</p><p>“You’d better get used to that,” Sansa said.. “It’ll hardly stop until winter’s over, and who knows when that’ll be.”</p><p>Margaery sat there peacefully for a few moments, watching the snow fall. </p><p>Then, all of a sudden, she stood up and dashed towards the window. </p><p>“What is it?” </p><p>At first, she didn’t respond to Sansa. She just peered further and further, clearly trying to make something out. </p><p>Then, she gasped excitedly and clapped. </p><p>“Sansa!” She turned around, a bright grin painted across her face. “Look.” </p><p>Sansa sat up, straining her neck to try and see what Margaery had been so excited by. As she did so, Margaery began to dress hurriedly. What could have put her in such a rush? </p><p>Then, she made it out as she gripped the windowsill. A carriage, coming down the Kingsroad, followed by countless horses and men. </p><p>Sansa gaped as she realised what Margaery meant. “Are they…”</p><p>“Yes,” Margaery beamed, excitedly buttoning up her dress. “They’re here.” </p><p>Sansa’s eyes widened. “Already?”</p><p>“I know! Come on, get up, get dressed.” Margaery wrapped her gold rose belt around her waist. </p><p>Sansa pulled herself out of bed, legs still shaking more than a little. “I hope Jon’s made the appropriate preparations.” She glanced around their room. “Have you seen my grey dress?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s down here.” Margaery threw the garment over their bed to Sansa, who thankfully managed to catch it. “I hope they get on. I should think Jon and Loras would be good friends.”</p><p>“Hopefully.” Sansa pulled her dress over her head, managing not to get too tangled in the soft fabric. “...Olenna’s going to chew him up and spit him out, though.”</p><p>“Oh, definitely.”</p><p> </p><p>Margaery, Sansa and Jon waited patiently in the courtyard as the Tyrell carriages drew nearer. Loras and Olenna had ridden north with the majority of the actual Tyrell army, though only a few of them would actually be staying with them in Winterfell. The rest would be relegated to encampments right outside the grounds, and would remain there for...well. Until the war came, which hardly bore thinking about. </p><p>“You remember the last time we welcomed guests to Winterfell?” Sansa whispered excitedly to Jon. “It feels like centuries ago.”</p><p>“Aye,” Jon said. “Though I expect this one will be much less disastrous. I can’t imagine any of us getting thrown out of a window by Olenna Tyrell.”</p><p>Sansa chuckled at that. “You never know. She’s ferocious.”</p><p>“So I’ve heard.”</p><p>“Don’t scare him off before he’s even met her,” Margaery muttered. “Oh, look, here they are.”</p><p>She rubbed her gloved hands together in excitement as the carriage door opened and Olenna stepped out. </p><p>“Grandmother!” Margaery immediately ran over to Olenna and squashed her in a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.”</p><p>“Margaery!” Olenna beamed. “Or should I say, Lady of Winterfell. Am I going to have to call you Lady Margaery now?”</p><p>“You managed just fine when I was your queen,” Margaery chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine with <em> lady.” </em></p><p>Sansa smiled to herself as she watched them embrace. She had always felt as though Margaery’s separation from her family had been a <em> little </em>bit her fault, so seeing them back together was wonderful. They’d always had such a close relationship, that Sansa couldn’t help but envy, and watching them embrace out in the courtyard once again reminded her just what they’d been fighting for. </p><p>Besides, she’d really missed Olenna. She hadn’t interacted with her as much as she would have liked when they were back in King’s Landing, and she’d left for Highgarden while they were in the middle of the mess with the Faith Militant. It would be lovely to have both Olenna and Loras in Winterfell with them, and solidifying the Stark-Tyrell alliance was, for her, an added bonus. </p><p>“The North welcomes you, my lady,” Jon said, strolling up to the two of them. Sansa followed him, pulling her hands out of her pockets. “I can only apologise for the cold.”</p><p>“The cold? Please,” Olenna tutted. “When you get to my age, you learn to deal with such conditions. It takes more than a chill to put me off.”</p><p>“You’re not giving them grief already, are you?” Loras strolled up to the four of them, and Margaery’s beam grew even wider. </p><p>“Loras! How was the journey North?”</p><p>“Absolutely freezing,” he said, flinging his helmet off. “But it’s lovely to be here.”</p><p>“You might have to get some extra furs for my grandson here,” Olenna said. “He hasn’t been adjusting so well.”</p><p>Loras rolled his eyes. “Must you embarrass me in front of the King in the North?”</p><p>“I promise,” Jon said, “I am not at all intimidating. King in the North is just a...uh…a title.”</p><p>“Don’t be so humble,” Sansa chuckled. “You earned that title.”</p><p>“I do hope my granddaughter hasn’t been giving you too much trouble,” Olenna said. “She’s a brilliant girl, but gods, she can be demanding sometimes.”</p><p>“Grandmother!” Margaery protested. “I’m right here.”</p><p>“Yes, my dear, I know. My eyesight hasn’t deserted me <em> yet.” </em></p><p>Sansa chuckled. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”</p><p>“Oh, come <em> here </em>, Sansa,” Olenna said. She pulled Sansa into a rib-crushing hug, and the breath that was forced from Sansa’s mouth immediately clouded in the cold air. “My gods, you’ve grown. The North agrees with you, I can tell. You must be so much happier here than in that dump they call a capital.”</p><p>Sansa nodded excitedly. “It’s so wonderful to be home. I do hope you won’t miss Highgarden too much.”</p><p>“Father’s taking care of it while we’re gone,” Loras explained. “And Winterfell is a much nicer place to be homesick than King’s Landing, anyway.”</p><p>“Maybe so,” Jon said, glancing up at the castle walls. “But it might not be so for much longer, when the dead come for us. Which is why we’re so grateful that you’ve offered to assist us in the fight against them.”</p><p>Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to glare at him. He could have at least waited a little while, given the Tyrells time to adjust, before bringing up the elephant in the room. </p><p>Perhaps she was being pedantic, and this was just another offshoot of her irritation towards him. He had been getting on her last nerve lately, disagreeing with everything she suggested and finding things to argue about. It was as if the tension from their argument before the battle with the Boltons had never really gone away, left to fester and permeating every one of their interactions. </p><p>It was normal for siblings to bicker and disagree, this Sansa knew. It didn’t mean that she loved him any less. It just meant that actually <em> tolerating </em>him was becoming increasingly difficult. </p><p>Olenna and Loras didn’t seem fazed by his words, though. Instead, they nodded understandingly. </p><p>“I hardly wanted to believe what Margaery was telling me,” Olenna said. “Dead men coming back to life. It sounded like a fairy story.” She looked over at Margaery, and her eyes filled with sincerity. “But I know Margaery. I know she wouldn’t lie to me. At least, not unless she really needed to. And I also know that much stranger things have happened. So here we are, I suppose.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Margaery said. “Really, we cannot thank you enough.”</p><p>“Thank <em> you,” </em>Loras grinned. “I heard that, were it not for you, none of us would be standing here right now. Winterfell would be overrun with Boltons.”</p><p>“I think Sansa should get at least some of the credit for that,” Margaery chuckled. She reached out to clasp Sansa’s hand, and Sansa squeezed it tight. “She was with me every step of the way.”</p><p>The corners of Olenna’s mouth twitched. “It is so lovely to see the two of you so happy together.”</p><p>Margaery smiled at Sansa, cheeks flushed - from the cold, or possibly from their activities earlier. At least she’d taken the time to sort her hair out.</p><p>“You do make a lovely couple.”</p><p>Sansa’s hand went limp in Margaery’s grasp as Olenna’s words hit her. </p><p>“Wait,” she said. “How do you - what-”</p><p>Margaery seemed just as lost for words as Sansa was. “We never told you-”</p><p>“No, you never <em> told </em>me, but I can put two and two together. I know that look of yours, Margaery, I saw the way you two were fawning over each other back in King’s Landing. You couldn’t disguise it then, and you can’t now.” Her expression wasn’t harsh, nothing like it. In fact, she looked perfectly sympathetic. But Sansa still felt rather ashamed. </p><p>Margaery’s eyes flickered towards Loras. “Did <em> you </em>know she knew?”</p><p>He put his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t know about anything. Don’t bring me into this.”</p><p>“Hold on.” Olenna put her hands on her hips, and looked up at her son. “You knew?”</p><p>“...Yes?”</p><p>“And you didn’t tell me?”</p><p>“It...never really came up!”</p><p>Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, now we <em> all </em>know, and it’s all out in the open.”</p><p>“Thank the gods,” Margaery said. “I was beginning to worry about how I would approach the subject.”</p><p>“You couldn’t possibly have approached it worse than your brother did,” Olenna said. “Loras, remember when you-”</p><p>“Grandmother!” Loras hissed. “We do not need to recount the time I told you I liked men right now.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Olenna said. “We can recount it over supper. But would you mind showing us to where we’ll be staying, Your Grace? It has been a very long journey.”</p><p>Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. “I - actually, Margaery, could you show our guests to their rooms?”</p><p>Margaery frowned. “Of course. But-”</p><p>“I need to speak with Sansa for a moment,” Jon explained, and Sansa’s heart plummeted. “Alone.”</p><p> </p><p>She and Jon watched the Tyrells leave, walking inside the warm halls of Winterfell. It wasn’t until they were out of sight that Jon turned back to her. </p><p>“I didn’t get the chance to speak to you after last night’s council meeting.”</p><p><em> Oh. </em>This was about that. The night before, Jon and Sansa had had a disagreement regarding whether or not to forgive House Umber. Sansa had her hesitations, considering that they had previously sworn loyalty to the Boltons, but Jon had been eager to forgive and forget. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I just thought-”</p><p>“Look. I respect your opinion. But when you undermine my decisions, in front of the other lords and ladies, you undermine <em> me.” </em></p><p>She gaped. “So I’m not allowed to question your decisions now?”</p><p>“It’s not that-”</p><p>“Joffrey never let anyone question his decisions, do you think he was a good king?”</p><p>She winced the second the words left her mouth. That was going too far, she knew that much, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. </p><p>Jon stared daggers at her. “You think I’m Joffrey?”</p><p>“You’re the furthest from Joffrey that I could possibly imagine,” she said. </p><p>He nodded appreciatively. “Thank you.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to undermine anything. Besides, you’re good at this.”</p><p>“At what?”</p><p>She gestured up at the castle. “At ruling.”</p><p>He shook his head. </p><p>“You are. Seriously, Jon. They respect you, they really do. I mean, the <em> Tyrells </em>respect you, and I love them dearly, but they can be really judgemental sometimes. They acknowledge your power, because you’re a good ruler and an even better man. But-”</p><p>A laugh escaped Jon’s mouth. </p><p>“I’m sorry, is something funny?”</p><p>“Father used to say every word before the word <em> but </em>is horseshit.”</p><p>There it was again, that irritation lodged deep in her chest. “He never said that to me.”</p><p>“No. He never cursed in front of his girls.”</p><p>“He was trying to protect us, I suppose.” <em> That worked out well, didn’t it? </em>“So I’m talking horseshit, now, am I?”</p><p>“You’re not talking - Sansa. I just wish you’d be a bit more agreeable.”</p><p>“Agreeable? Listen to me, Jon. I’m just trying to protect <em> you. </em> You and I need to be smarter than Father, smarter than Robb.” She hadn’t realised that was <em> why </em>she’d been so critical of Jon’s decisions until the words left her mouth, but it was true. “I loved them, I miss them, but they made careless mistakes, and they lost their heads for it. I can’t have you doing the same.”</p><p>“Well, how can I do that, then? By listening to you-”</p><p>“Your Grace!”</p><p>Sansa almost jumped out of her skin as a voice from behind her rang out in the cold air. </p><p>“What is it?” Jon asked. </p><p>The man handed Jon a roll of parchment. “A raven from King’s Landing, Your Grace.”</p><p>“King’s Landing?” Sansa muttered to herself as he walked away. </p><p>Jon unrolled it. About a second after his eyes landed on the parchment, his eyes went wide with fear. </p><p>“Jon?” Sansa tried to peer over it, to see what was written. “Jon, what-”</p><p>His eyes snapped up to meet hers. “It’s from Cersei.”</p><p><em> Shit. </em>“What does she-”</p><p>“From <em> Queen </em>Cersei. As in, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”</p><p>Sansa stood there, trying to comprehend the information that Jon had just related to her. </p><p>Queen Cersei. <em> Queen </em>Cersei. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms -</p><p>“What the fuck?” Sansa all but screeched, and Jon glared at her. “She’s the queen now? I mean, she was always the queen, but now she’s-”</p><p>“Queen in her own right. From what I can gather, both of her children gave up their right to the throne, and she took it.”</p><p>“Gave up?” Sansa scoffed. “They were probably manipulated into giving her the crown. Those poor children.”</p><p>She eyed the parchment in Jon’s hand. “Give me that,” she said, her breath catching in her throat all of a sudden. </p><p>“Queen Cersei Lannister, first of her name…” She skipped over Cersei’s title and the lengthy explanation of how she had ended up on the throne. “We sent a letter to Winterfell, imploring you to bend the knee, but due to extenuating circumstances in the North, I understand it did not reach you. My loyal Hand, Lady Brienne - <em> Brienne </em> ?” she said incredulously. “Brienne of <em> Tarth? </em>She’s Cersei’s Hand of the Queen?”</p><p>“Isn’t that the woman who-”</p><p>“Who let Margaery and I live, yes.” Sansa blinked again at the letter. “That makes no sense. Why would she - what - I mean, Cersei doesn’t even - what?”</p><p>“Read the rest of it!” Jon urged. “I didn’t get the chance to before you snatched it.”</p><p>“My loyal Hand, Lady Brienne of Tarth, has made me aware that the Starks are no threat to the Iron Throne. As long as this is true, I will not contest your position as King in the North. In return, you will not challenge mine as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” She squinted at the next line, trying to imagine Cersei saying the words she had written. “We are willing to listen to your demands, to open communication between the North and the Crownlands. The history between our families is littered with blood, but we do not wish any more to be spilled. Stand alongside us in the fight to come, and we will leave you be.”</p><p>That didn’t sound like Cersei at all. In fact, it sounded a lot more like Brienne. </p><p>But this couldn’t possibly be what Cersei wanted. Sansa knew what she was like, there was no way she would listen to anyone’s opinion if it contradicted her own, even her Hand’s. And the idea of not wanting any more blood to be spilled? <em> Please.  </em></p><p>But as Sansa stared angrily at the offending parchment, one thing became clear to her. Regardless of Cersei’s intentions, she was still offering something like an alliance. And recognising Jon as King in the North was something Sansa never would have expected, but there it was. </p><p>Maybe she was manipulating them. But the idea of actively having Cersei as their enemy didn’t even bear thinking about. </p><p>“Well?” Jon said. “What do you think?”</p><p>“I think,” Sansa said tentatively, “that we would be fools to turn down her offer.”</p><p>Jon was silent for a few moments. He looked at her, aghast, hardly even able to voice what he wanted to say. </p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p>“Hear me out-”</p><p>“You kept telling me not to make careless mistakes. Don’t you think that trusting Cersei might, just maybe, count as a careless mistake?”</p><p>“I don’t want to <em> trust </em>her!” Sansa said. “I don’t even want to trust Brienne, not really, not when I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t think Cersei’s being honest, of course I don’t, of course she has some ulterior motive. But the bottom line is all the same: she doesn’t want us as an enemy. And quite frankly, I don’t want her as one either.”</p><p>“So you think we should just let her have what she wants?”</p><p>“All she wants is for us to stand alongside her. Not bend the knee, not bow to her, hell, it seems like she might even leave us alone-”</p><p>“You do remember who we’re talking about here?” Jon said incredulously. “Cersei Lannister? You know, the woman who held you hostage and was complicit in Father, Robb and Catelyn’s deaths? That Cersei Lannister?”</p><p>“Don’t,” she snapped. “I know her better than you ever will. And believe me, I know that she’s probably manipulating us. But two can <em> fucking </em>play at that game, and I’m sorry if I don’t want her as our enemy!”</p><p>“Have you forgotten about the more pressing enemy?” Jon thrust his hand in the vague direction of the Wall. “The Night King-”</p><p>“There is a wall between us and the Night King,” Sansa said. “I know how important it is to protect the Seven Kingdoms from the White Walkers, believe me, but there is no wall between us and Cersei.”</p><p>“There’s a thousand miles between us and Cersei! Winter is here, the Lannisters would never range this far north.” Jon looked at the letter in Sansa’s hand. “And what does she mean by ‘the fight to come’ anyway? She can’t possibly mean the one between the living and the dead.”</p><p>Sansa huffed. “I don’t know. I wish I knew, but - Jon, we can’t just ignore her. Everyone she’s ever crossed, she’s found a way to murder.”</p><p>“So you don’t think that, if this is a trick, it might be <em> us </em>getting murdered? Have you considered that?”</p><p>“Have <em> you </em>considered that the South ‘leaving us be’ and opening communications with us might actually be good for the North?”</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes. “You really believe that?”</p><p>“I-” She exhaled deeply. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I’ve never been able to make sense of that woman or her motivations or any of it. But we can’t afford to antagonise her. A war on two fronts would be devastating and you know it.”</p><p>She looked at him, waiting for him to respond to her.</p><p>“Jon?”</p><p>“I’ll think about it,” he snapped. “Alright?”</p><p>They glared at each other for a moment, both their eyes filled with frustration. </p><p>“Go and see to the Tyrells,” Jon muttered. “They’ll be wondering where you’ve got to.”</p><p>“You will think about what I’ve said,” Sansa said, “won’t you, Jon?”</p><p>“Just go.” He looked at her expectantly, his gaze stony and resolute. </p><p><em> Fine. </em>She turned on her heel and walked the length of the courtyard, every flake of snow that landed on her hair another inconvenience that set her blood on fire. </p><p>She was still holding the parchment. Gods, the confusion of it all was just complicating everything further. She still agreed that they should absolutely avoid having Cersei as an enemy, and that Jon was probably just being contrarian, but...well. It all seemed just a little too easy. </p><p>And there was still the fact, lingering over her, that Cersei had let her live. She had wanted to kill her, but then she had changed her mind, and Sansa had never figured out why. Was this all some masterplan, some long game that she was still being used as a piece in even a thousand miles away? And did it have anything to do with Cersei’s apparent change of heart?</p><p>She couldn’t make sense of it. </p><p><em> But maybe, </em> she thought suddenly, <em> there’s someone who can help me do exactly that.  </em></p><p>She would see to the Tyrells later, she decided. Instead, she headed straight for her room, to pen a letter to send south. </p><p>Not to Cersei. But to someone she felt that maybe, just maybe, she could trust in all this. </p><p>She needed to write to Brienne.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I would absolutely love to hear what you thought in the comments. :)</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Hardest Goodbye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The North is made aware of Daenerys' arrival in Westeros, and Sansa and Jon clash over whether or not to meet with her. In the wake of this, Sansa and Margaery are presented with a rather unique opportunity.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At this point, Sansa had had quite enough of letters. </p><p>Peering over Jon’s shoulder at the letter in his hand, she thought she wouldn’t mind if another raven never came to Winterfell again. Nothing good ever came of them. </p><p>Because now, as if the issues of the White Walkers to the north and the Lannisters to the south hadn’t been enough of a problem, they were apparently dealing with a threat from the East, too. </p><p>She’d heard whisperings about Daenerys Targaryen back in King’s Landing, before her father died. Honestly, she’d assumed the girl was dead by now: but then again, she hadn’t really given her much thought since she was thirteen. </p><p>How wrong she had been. Now, Daenerys - or, by some strange happenstance, her Hand of the Queen, none other than Tyrion Lannister - was asking to meet with them. </p><p>“But do you think it’s really <em> Tyrion </em>?” she said sceptically. “It could be someone trying to lure us into a trap.”</p><p>Margaery and Olenna looked just as apprehensive as she felt, craning their necks to get a good look at the piece of paper Jon was clutching.</p><p>“I would hardly have expected him to ally with this Targaryen girl,” Margaery said, her eyebrows raised into perfect arches of confusion. “Then again, I fear none of us knew him well enough.”</p><p>“Look at the bottom line,” Jon said. “All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.”</p><p>“And what does that mean?” </p><p>“It’s something he said to me the first time we met,” Jon said, somewhat wistful. “You’re right, Sansa, this seems to have come out of nowhere, but it does seem to be him.”</p><p>“Just like Tyrion,” Olenna sighed. “Quoting himself. He’s a smart man, I’ll give him that, but by the gods does he know it.”</p><p>“Surely you know him better than any of us, Sansa,” Margaery said, clutching her brown cloak closer to her chest. “What do you think we should do?”</p><p>“Tyrion isn’t like the other Lannisters,” she said. <em> Says the woman who’s been writing letters to Cersei Lannister’s Hand in secret.  </em></p><p>She blinked, trying to cast off her momentary guilt. “He was always kind to me. But you can’t go, Jon. It’s too great a risk.”</p><p>She really didn’t want to bring up the whole Cersei thing again, especially considering how much it had riled up Jon. But they desperately needed to take it into consideration. </p><p>“As long as my sister sits on the throne,” Olenna said, reading off the letter, “the Seven Kingdoms will bleed. Daenerys Targaryen is the ruler this great nation needs, and if you work with us, we can make the world anew and bring this unjust rule to an end.” She hmmed to herself. “A sentiment that might be more convincing without the mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied, and three dragons.”</p><p>Jon stared out at the courtyard for a moment, snow falling softly in his black hair. </p><p>“Fire does kill wights,” he said thoughtfully. “With a dragon - I mean, with<em> three- </em>”</p><p>“I agree with Sansa,” Margaery said. “I know how much that could mean to us, but meeting with her is far too dangerous.”</p><p>“If the army of the dead goes past the wall-” Jon began, but Olenna swiftly cut him off. </p><p>“If we lose you, we won’t be able to fight any of the dead, dragon or no dragon,” she said simply. “It’s not worth risking your neck.”</p><p>Jon exhaled sharply. “I need to speak to Davos.”</p><p>He turned on his heel and went down the walkway without another word, leaving Sansa, Margaery and Olenna to stand there, bemused, as the cold wind blew in their faces. </p><p>“Well,” Sansa said, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. “You did warn me your grandmother would chew him up and spit him out.”</p><p>“I should hope so,” Olenna said triumphantly. “Is he always this stubborn?”</p><p>“His heart’s in the right place,” Sansa said. “It’s just very firmly stuck there, and we’ve no hope of wrenching it out.”</p><p>Margaery scoffed. “That sounds about right.”</p><p>Sansa wrung her gloved hands together. “What are we going to do?”</p><p>“We,” Olenna said, “need to sort this out one thing at a time. I mean, now we have two Lannisters to worry about. They’re like flies, they’re everywhere.”</p><p>In that moment, Sansa ached to tell the truth, feeling it threatening to slip over the tip of her tongue. She felt almost traitorous, harbouring the secret that she’d written to Cersei’s Hand - Brienne, not just her Hand, Brienne, the woman who had saved her life - and that her letter in response was sitting in the drawer of her dressing table, not yet read. </p><p>But she couldn’t quite manage to say it, somehow. She’d already wrapped herself in a web of lies - perhaps it had been a mistake not to be honest about it from the beginning, to tell Margaery she was writing back, but her mouth had been clammed up then as it was now. </p><p>“Daenerys <em> is </em>a conqueror,” Margaery said pensively. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want Cersei to be queen any more than the next person, but if we ally with the Targaryens, wouldn’t we be alienating a lot of people?”</p><p><em> Thank you! </em>Sansa wanted to say enthusiastically, but instead she just nodded in agreement. </p><p>“That’s what I’ve been trying to get Jon to understand,” she said. “But he won’t listen.”</p><p>“Are you suggesting,” Olenna said, looking up at her granddaughter, “that we have to choose between one queen or another?”</p><p>“We choose to defend the North,” Sansa said, and thankfully Margaery nodded in agreement. “The problem is, we can’t decide which will serve us better.”</p><p>“We don’t know Daenerys at all,” Olenna interjected. “But we do know Cersei.”</p><p>“Do we?” Sansa muttered. </p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>She shrugged placidly. “I haven’t been able to understand her motivations in a long time. Even less so with that letter.”</p><p>“You’re certainly not alone there,” Margaery said. “I mean, all that stuff about not wanting blood to be spilled? It sounded like a different person entirely.”</p><p>“Perhaps she’s taking the pragmatic route too,” Sansa said. “Considering what’s best for the Seven Kingdoms as a whole.”</p><p>The three of them stared out into the freezing white courtyard for a few moments. </p><p>Then, they all burst out laughing. </p><p>“Oh, gods,” Margaery said, her eyes watering. “Can you imagine?”</p><p><em> Not her, </em> Sansa thought bitterly. <em> But perhaps her Hand.  </em></p><p>“It feels rather like we’re being lured into a trap,” Olenna said. “But would we rather fall into the jaws of the lion or the dragon?” </p><p>“Ideally, neither,” Sansa said. “Either way we’re getting eaten.”</p><p>Olenna huffed into the frigid air. “Didn’t Cersei say she would listen to your demands...or something like that?”</p><p>“Yes, something of the sort,” Sansa said. </p><p>Olenna frowned.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Margaery said, making furtive eye contact with Sansa. </p><p>“I’m wondering if there’s a reason Cersei is so eager to hear what we have to say. I can’t imagine it’s out of the goodness of her heart.”</p><p>“You think there’s more to it?”</p><p>“She must be rather more desperate than we thought if she’s willing to listen to the North. I think she needs our help more than she wants to admit.”</p><p>Sansa’s blood froze. Had she made a huge lapse in judgement in writing to Brienne?</p><p>She could feel the letter all the way from here, calling to her from her drawer. <em> I should have just left it alone, </em> she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. <em> I’ve probably made it a thousand times worse by getting involved.  </em></p><p>“But we need her help, too,” Margaery said. </p><p>“So...we help each other?” Sansa suggested hesitantly. </p><p>“But then there’s bloody <em> Daenerys,” </em>Olenna sighed. “We seem to be rather at a stalemate here.”</p><p>Margaery scoffed. “It’s rather unfair that the Night King doesn’t have to go through all of this. Worrying about alliances and diplomacy and all that. It must be easy to just...snap your fingers and have an army at your feet.”</p><p>“Gods, that would be nice,” Sansa said. </p><p>“What have you actually <em> done </em>regarding the Cersei situation, anyway?” Olenna asked. </p><p>
  <em> I’ve written a letter to her Hand, and she wrote back to me. I haven’t read the letter yet. I thought it could wait. I’m an idiot.  </em>
</p><p>“Jon’s still thinking about it,” Sansa said bitterly. “I don’t know how long he thinks he can do that.”</p><p>“Well, make him think harder,” Olenna said. “The clock is ticking.”</p><p><em> That’s not Jon’s fault, </em> she thought, her stomach curdling. <em> It’s mine.  </em></p><p>“I’ll talk to him today,” she said, trying to sound somewhat bright. “Sort this all out. He’ll have to deal with it eventually…”</p><p>Her sentence trailed off as she noticed the commotion out in the courtyard. The men who had been crafting armour and practicing archery were laying down their weapons and hammers, pulling their cloaks around them and walking towards the doors, muttering conspicuously to each other. </p><p>Sansa glanced down at Margaery. “What’s going on?”</p><p>Margaery looked equally befuddled, peering out as far as she could see to glean what was happening. “I don’t know…”</p><p>A man bustled past them - some minor lord, Sansa remembered, but his name escaped her. There were so many of them these days, it was difficult to keep track. </p><p>“What’s going on?” she asked, her words somewhat lost to the wind.</p><p>“Meeting of all the lords in the Great Hall,” he muttered. “His Grace’s orders.”</p><p>He walked off without another word, leaving Sansa to exhale in exasperation.</p><p>“An emergency meeting?” she huffed. “What could-”</p><p>“He must have made his mind up,” Margaery said, her eyes wide with panic. </p><p>“Fuck.” Sansa glanced out into the now empty courtyard, clutching her hands together. “Fuck.”</p><p>Olenna sighed. “I suppose a decision is better than nothing.”</p><p>“That rather depends on what the decision is,” Margaery objected. </p><p>
  <em> And I still haven’t read that gods-damned letter.  </em>
</p><p>“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Sansa said, jaw clenched so tight she feared it might crack.</p><p> </p><p>The air was no less tense in the Hall than it had been in the courtyard, filled with the baited breath of hundreds of lords and soldiers as Jon spoke. </p><p>Sansa was fiddling restlessly with the Needle replica at the end of her necklace, even after Margaery had suggested she stop in case she worked herself up too much. </p><p>“I received this letter from Samwell Tarly,” Jon said. “He was my brother in the Night’s Watch. A man I trust as much as anyone in this world. And he has discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh. Oh no.  </em>
</p><p>He held up another rolled-up piece of parchment. “I received this from Dragonstone. It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister.”</p><p>A roar of disapproval went up at the mention of Tyrion’s name, and Sansa cringed. </p><p>“He is now…” Jon sighed in frustration as the mutterings continued. “He is now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister, and has a powerful army at her back...and if this message is to be believed, three dragons.”</p><p><em> Fuck. </em>A wave of dread began to roll over her. </p><p>“Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with him and Daenerys.”</p><p>She clutched the little Needle in her palm. </p><p>“And I’m going to accept.”</p><p>Sansa squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach plummeted right into the centre of the earth.</p><p>“What?” she faintly heard Margaery whisper. “He can’t - he can’t just-”</p><p>“We need this dragonglass!” Jon shouted over the protests. “We know it can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons.”</p><p>“At the expense of antagonising the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa muttered bitterly, “who doesn’t even know this is happening.”</p><p>They hadn’t tried to tell Cersei about the White Walkers, knowing full well she wouldn’t believe them. But that felt like a lapse of judgement too, now. </p><p>“And more importantly, we need allies. The Night King’s army grows larger by the day. I appreciate the aid of the Tyrells and the other Northern houses, but they aren’t enough. We don’t have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army, and she has dragonfire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us.”</p><p>The mutterings had all died down now, Jon’s voice echoing around the silent room. No one looked particularly convinced. </p><p>“Ser Davos and I will ride to White Harbour tomorrow,” Jon said. “Then sail for Dragonstone-”</p><p>“Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?” Sansa said, her voice coming out louder than she’d intended. She did her best not to shy away as every head in the room turned towards her. “The Mad King invited him to King’s Landing and roasted him alive.”</p><p>“I know,” Jon muttered.</p><p>“Daenerys intends to go to war with Cersei Lannister.” Sansa’s voice was growing more confident now, more resolved. “I don’t want her on that throne any more than you do, but we cannot afford to get involved in another war right now. And if Daenerys intends to take all of the Seven Kingdoms, have you forgotten that the North is one of those Seven Kingdoms? This isn’t an invitation. It’s a trap.”</p><p>She heard a few people mutter in agreement, Olenna and Loras included. </p><p>“It could well be,” Jon said, far too calm for the situation at hand. “But I don’t believe Tyrion would do that. You know him. He’s a good man.”</p><p>“Your Grace.” Loras was getting up from his chair now, his expression of frustration mirroring his sister’s. “I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Sansa. I know I’m not a Northern lord, but I understand what you’re risking, and - well, is it really worth that risk?”</p><p>“You can’t trust Targaryens!” someone shouted. </p><p>“Or Lannisters!” came another response. </p><p>Lyanna Mormont stood up, and as per usual, commanded the attention of the room. “Winter is here, Your Grace. We need the King in the North <em> in the North </em>.”</p><p>Jon sighed, looking somewhat defeated. </p><p>“Would he really do that?” Margaery asked. “Just...leave?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sansa said. “I never thought so. But here we are.”</p><p>“You all crowned me your king,” Jon said, his tone deceptively level. “But I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it, because the North is my home. It is a part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds. But the odds are against us.”</p><p>He sighed, a sadness entering his black eyes. “None of you have seen the army of the dead, none of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies.”</p><p>He turned his attention to Sansa and Margaery. “Cersei Lannister has offered to open communications with the North, to make some sort of agreement. But we cannot trust her either. And, if I’m honest, she is not the queen we need to fight the White Walkers.”</p><p>“And Daenerys is?” Margaery said, rising from her chair as well. “We don’t know her, Jon. She could be a thousand times worse. I don’t believe she’s inherently like her father, but - well, we don’t know, do we?”</p><p>“And what has Cersei Lannister done, anyways?” </p><p>Jon turned to look at the Northern lord who had piped up incredulously. <em> “What?” </em></p><p>“I don’t like her,” the lord said rather nonchalantly. “I’m not going to stand here and defend her, but she’s hardly been a tyrant like Joffrey was. It hasn’t exactly been the reign of terror Daenerys seems to think it’s been.”</p><p>Sansa’s blood chilled again as a round of disapproving whispers circulated the room. That was a rather dangerous point to make, especially this far North. </p><p>And even in the unlikely situation that he was right, and Cersei had miraculously redeemed herself since sitting on the Iron Throne, she had a bloody past which Sansa would never be able to forgive. But she - or at least, Brienne - had been somewhat willing to listen to them. And Sansa stood by what she’d written in that stupid letter, that they needed to put their house conflict aside to go forwards. </p><p>Daenerys didn’t seem like the sort to put house conflict behind her. Not in the slightest. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Margaery whispered. </p><p>All Sansa did was shake her head and clench her fists tighter.</p><p>“This isn’t about Cersei Lannister,” Jon said. “It’s about the war between the living and the dead. Believe me, I know this is a risk. But I have to take it.”</p><p>“Then send an emissary!” Sansa implored, her voice dangerously close to pleading. “Don’t go yourself.”</p><p>“Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me.”</p><p>Sansa rolled her eyes. “You’re abandoning your people, Jon! You’re abandoning your home.”</p><p>His gaze softened inexplicably. “I’m leaving both in good hands.”</p><p>“Who?” Sansa threw her hands up in the air desperately. “Who could we possibly trust to keep Winterfell safe at a time like this, at the beginning of winter no less, when we don’t know what’s going to happen and we can barely protect ourselves-”</p><p>“You.”</p><p>She froze. </p><p>Her hands fell to her sides. </p><p>“What?” The word came out as little more than a breath.</p><p>“I’m leaving it with you.” The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to shift into a smile. “You’re my sister, the only Stark in Winterfell. You have the Northern Lords to support you…” His gaze fell to Margaery. “And the aid of the Tyrells to guide you.”</p><p>Sansa could only see Margaery in her peripheral vision, but she swore she saw her blue eyes light up.</p><p>“Until I return,” Jon said, “the North is yours.”</p><p>No one objected. No one gave the person sitting next to them a scathing look of disapproval. </p><p>There was just her, and Margaery next to her, and a hundred waiting faces. </p><p><em> They’re waiting for me, </em> she thought suddenly. <em> I haven’t agreed to this yet.  </em></p><p>For support, she glanced down at Margaery.</p><p>She moved her head up and down once - a reassuring nod which sent relief flooding through Sansa’s chest.</p><p>Her breath catching more than a little in her throat, she turned back to Jon.</p><p>She nodded shakily, and he nodded right back. </p><p>Maybe they weren’t going to manage to get Cersei on their side. Maybe the whole ordeal with Daenerys was going to end badly. Sansa could still feel a flicker of doubt burning inside her, teetering on the edge of uncertainty. </p><p>But there was one thing she could be sure of. For a little while, at least, the North was hers. </p><p>And maybe, just maybe, with Margaery’s help, she would do what she could to protect it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Honestly, I think Sansa is underestimating herself.  Neither she nor Cersei understand the they're in fully yet, and I'd say she's doing a pretty good job.<br/>(She says, having written the damn thing.)<br/>Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Also, we might be meeting a few more familiar faces soon...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Face That Stares Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Having control of Winterfell in Jon's absence, Sansa and Margaery begin to devise a plan to deal with Cersei. But their intentions are thrown off course when a familiar face arrives at the gates.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>While Sansa hadn’t exactly expected command to be <em> easy, </em>it was turning out to be rather more difficult than she had anticipated. </p><p>But slowly, after a few false starts and with several nudges from Margaery, she was getting used to it. Sort of. </p><p>And, despite the strange new challenges she was facing, it turned out that she didn’t actually mind it <em> so </em>much. While the first time Margaery had reassured her that she was good at it she had simply dismissed her and thought she was just trying to be nice, the longer Jon was absent, the more Sansa realised that Margaery might have been telling the truth.</p><p>It made sense, she supposed: she was no queen, of course, and she didn’t always know exactly <em> what </em>to do, but she’d seen so many incompetent people in power that she mostly knew what not to do. Which, surprisingly, solved rather a lot of things. </p><p>But she couldn’t feel too confident in her abilities, not when the shadows of war and winter loomed over her at all times and meant that she constantly had to be on her toes, thinking ahead, planning. She understood now why Jon looked so tired all the time. </p><p>Well. That and the fact that he’d literally died and come back to life. </p><p>“How much do we have?” she asked the weary-looking maester standing next to her, as she and Margaery stared out over the courtyard. </p><p>“Four thousand bushels, my lady,” he said, as though that was a lot. It wasn’t. “Enough to last for a year, maybe longer.”</p><p>“And what’s the longest winter in the past hundred years?” She sounded rather impatient, she supposed, but that was exactly what she needed to be. These were her people she was trying to feed, and patience was not always a virtue. </p><p>“I’m, uh, not entirely certain, my lady. I’ll check Maester Luwin’s record, he kept a copy of every raven scroll.” </p><p>She nodded politely, thinking to herself <em> it was definitely longer than a year, though, wasn’t it?  </em></p><p>“So you’re telling me that we don’t have enough food,” she said, as placidly as she could. “Especially if the armies of the North come back to defend Winterfell.”</p><p>“...No, my lady, most likely not.”</p><p>Sansa sighed. “Then we must prepare for that eventuality.”</p><p>She stepped down onto the courtyard, the frozen earth even harder under her feet than it had been yesterday. Her arm found Margaery’s once more, the two of them entwining themselves together. </p><p>“Whatever direction the threat comes from,” she said thoughtfully, “this is the best place to be, and the North knows that. We need to start building up more regular grain shipments.” She turned to Margaery. “I know that Highgarden needs its grain just as much as we do, but-”</p><p>“I’ll request that my father increase the amount of grain we allocate to the North,” Margaery said. “And trust me. You need it more than we do. I mean, more than they do.” She sighed. “My point is, Highgarden won’t feel the effects of winter quite as badly. Winterfell certainly will. It’s a sacrifice we can afford to make.”</p><p>She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. “I really don’t know how we’re going to feed everyone. Especially since we don’t even know who we’ll be feeding.” </p><p>The clanging of metal on metal filled her ears, and she cringed at the harsh invasion of sound. Margaery seemed to feel exactly the same: she wrinkled her nose and lurched away from the source of the sound, the blacksmiths hammering at their steel. </p><p>“So noisy,” she said disparagingly. </p><p>Sansa’s gaze fell to them, and she frowned. “Are these plates being covered with leather?” she asked. </p><p>“No, my lady.”</p><p>“Well, shouldn’t they be?” That hadn’t even occurred to her before, but now it had entered her mind she couldn’t leave it alone. “Once the real cold comes.”</p><p>The blacksmith nodded, somewhat shamefully. “They should indeed. Pardon me, my lady.”</p><p>“It’s quite alright.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Just make sure they are from now on.”</p><p>He continued his fervent nodding as they walked away. </p><p>“Good observation,” Margaery said. “I never would have thought about that.”</p><p>“You’d be surprised at how much an additional layer can change things,” Sansa said. “It’ll be invaluable if we are to endure the winter and fight at the same time.”</p><p>Margaery smiled softly, and wrapped her arm around Sansa’s tighter, like a vine climbing the walls of a tower. “I know I tell you this all the time, and you’re probably sick of hearing it. But you <em> are </em>good at this. Command suits you.”</p><p>“I hope so,” she sighed. “There’s quite a lot on the line here.”</p><p>“I mean it,” Margaery said. “I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.”</p><p>“I learned from the best,” Sansa said. “And the worst.”</p><p>Margaery chuckled. “The worst?” </p><p>“Joffrey. The Lannisters. Even Ramsay. I suppose I owe them a great deal because of all they taught me by being absolutely reprehensible.” She chuckled as she brushed a snowflake off the tip of her nose. “It’s strange how that works out sometimes.”</p><p>“You seem to have a lot more self awareness than quite a few people,” Margaery muttered. “Speaking of the Lannisters…I didn’t want to bring it up before because of all the problems with the Karstarks and then the grain, but do you know what we’re going to do about Cersei?”</p><p>Sansa’s mood immediately curdled. “I’d almost forgotten about her. We really are surrounded on all sides, aren’t we?”</p><p>She felt that pang of guilt again, deep within her stomach, the knowledge that she should have told Margaery about her communication with Brienne long ago. </p><p>“I mean, the thing about Cersei is that she’s so unpredictable. I know we don’t know Daenerys, and hopefully Jon’s changing that right now, but we don’t know what Cersei’ll do either-”</p><p>“I need to tell you something.” She shoved the words out of her mouth before she could stop herself, her voice sounding stilted and forced. </p><p>They were alone now, standing still under the walls of the castle where the sun could hardly reach them. There was no one to overhear them. </p><p>And if she didn’t tell Margaery right now, it was only going to make her problems ten times worse. </p><p>Margaery frowned. “What is it?”</p><p>“I…” She wrung her hands. “Remember when we got that first letter from Cersei, and it didn’t sound like her at all?” </p><p>“...Yes, that was strange. Sansa, what are you-”</p><p>“I replied to it.” Margaery’s eyes widened, and Sansa immediately lurched forwards. “Not to Cersei! No, not to her. To Brienne.”</p><p>The tension in Margaery’s face relaxed incrementally. “Oh?”</p><p>“I wrote to her saying that I was still trying to convince Jon, because I couldn’t just leave it up in the air - I mean, we don’t have that much time, and I couldn’t just ignore it, and she wrote back saying she wanted to maintain peace with the North against Cersei’s wishes, and that she would try to implement any demands we had as long as we did not choose to go against the crown, but that was before we got the letter from Daenerys, and I didn’t realise I had to tell Jon until it was too late, and now he’s literally doing what I promised Brienne we wouldn’t do - I haven’t even replied to it, yet, and Cersei doesn’t even know about the White Walkers, I mean, it’s not like she’d believe us, but that’s why we need her support and we can’t wait any longer, I mean we really can’t - are you angry at me?” She was talking so fast, now, and her hands were moving with her words more than usual.</p><p>Margaery’s expression was unreadable. </p><p>“I wouldn’t blame you, I mean, I’ve fucked it all up again, haven’t I?” She felt her lower lip wobble against her better nature, the consequences of her actions all bubbling up the surface. “It would have been fine if I’d just left it alone-”</p><p>“Sansa.” Margaery placed one hand on Sansa’s shoulder, grounding her somewhat but not quite enough. “Whatever you’ve done, I can assure you, there’s no way you’ve messed it <em> all </em>up.”</p><p>Sansa shook her head. </p><p>“Listen,” Margaery said urgently. “What was the last thing Brienne said to you? How did she leave it?” </p><p>She swallowed, trying to unstick the dryness of her throat. “She made it clear that she would do her best to make our demands heard, in exchange for refusing to give support to anyone who went against the crown. Which I read right after Jon left for Daenerys, so there’s no getting that back.” Her hope slumped inside her again. </p><p>Margaery didn’t respond to her for a moment. Her thin, graceful brows were furrowed in thought, her unfocused gaze aimed at some invisible point just beyond Sansa’s shoulder. </p><p>“What are you thinking?” she asked. </p><p>“I’m thinking,” Margaery said, her eyes unfocused, “that we need to make our demands heard.” Her eyes locked back on Sansa’s. “You said we hadn’t told Cersei about the White Walkers.”</p><p>“...No, but I hardly think she’d believe us. She wouldn’t just send her men north to fight an army she doesn’t think exist, she’d assume it was a trap-”</p><p>“Maybe. But I think my grandmother might be right. The Lannisters are at more of a disadvantage than they’re willing to admit, otherwise they wouldn’t want to listen to our demands at all. They might be expecting us to secede, to demand resources from the capital or money or something, but - no, we can’t tell Jon not to side with Daenerys at all, it might be well past that now, but they don’t have to know that. I think, at this point, we need to tell them about the threat beyond the wall, I know Cersei is the most stubborn, insufferable person either of us will ever meet, but she’s laid out her terms well enough, and if she wants us to even slightly do what she wants us to she’s going to have to listen to us.”</p><p>“But what about Jon?” </p><p>Margaery bit her lip. “We can’t double cross him, not as well as her, that’ll only complicate things further. I don’t know how angry he’d be about the letters, but...”</p><p>“I would hope he’d be able to look past it, considering we’re facing a literal war,” Sansa remarked. “So, fine, we tell Jon about the letters, then we somehow tell Cersei and Brienne about the White Walkers. And if they say no?”</p><p>“If they say no…” </p><p>Sansa paused mid-breath as an idea began to form in her mind. No, they couldn’t possibly do that. That was too far, too…</p><p>But wasn’t that how Cersei would be playing it? Going too far? Sansa had never been inclined to test her limits, but she was sure they were far greater than what she was contemplating. </p><p>This wasn’t even a war. It was an apocalyptic, ruthless threat that waited for them beyond the wall. The time for courtesy was over. </p><p>“If they say no,” she said decisively, “then we side with Daenerys. Plain and simple.”</p><p>Margaery gaped at her. “You mean-”</p><p>“We can bargain with them too. They aid us in the fight against the White Walkers, and we won’t help Daenerys take back the Iron Throne.”</p><p>Margaery contemplated her words for a moment. </p><p>“You think it’s a bad idea,” Sansa said. </p><p>“What if Daenerys presents Jon with the same conundrum? Help her take the throne from Cersei, and she’ll offer her aid?” </p><p>Shit, that was a good point. “Would Jon take that offer if he knew we had the same from Cersei?” </p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe that’s a risk we can afford to take at this point. Either way, we’re stuck between the two of them. But…” Margaery tapped her chin. “Cersei would definitely be more inclined to take the offer, given her position. If we stay out of the conflict, she has a better chance of keeping the Iron Throne. Daenerys isn’t so desperate. But then again...we just don’t know, do we?” </p><p>“We should tell Jon,” Sansa said decisively. “Tell him what the plan is, warn him not to promise to help Daenerys take over. We’ll have to be very specific.”</p><p>“And write to Cersei this time,” Margaery said. “She’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long.”</p><p>Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle. “...I’m sorry for not telling you about all this sooner.”</p><p>“Perhaps that would have been for the best,” Margaery said. “But there’s nothing we can do about that now. We have to move forwards, and we have to keep thinking.” </p><p>Sansa nodded thoughtfully. </p><p>“Lady Sansa?” </p><p>A voice echoed through the air, and she jumped. </p><p>“What is it?” she asked, her voice thin and brittle. The guard’s expression was strained, and a look like that never meant anything good. </p><p>“At the gate.”</p><p>“What’s happening at the-” she began, but the guard ran off before she could finish her sentence. </p><p>She glanced at Margaery, panicked. </p><p>“Do you want me to come?” she asked. </p><p>“I - yes.” Noting how much of a hurry that guard had actually been in, she thought it best to run to the gate, too, her mind whirring with whatever might be waiting there. </p><p>She received no more clarity once she actually got there. People were crowded around the entrance, muttering, whispering, creating a hollow cacophony of sound that drowned out the answer she was seeking. </p><p>She pushed her way towards the front of the growing crowd. “What’s going on-”</p><p>She met eyes with the boy at the centre of it all, and her world melted away. </p><p>She could have sworn she felt the earth drop beneath her feet as his gaze pierced into her soul, the gasp pushing itself out of her lungs seeming to reflect that. </p><p>“Hello, Sansa,” he said. </p><p>She tried to move her mouth, but nothing came out. <em> I thought you were dead, </em> she wanted to shout. <em> I thought I’d never see you again, I thought Jon and I were the only Starks left in this world -  </em></p><p>“Sansa?” Margaery whispered. “What’s-”</p><p>“Bran,” she breathed, and immediately clambered over his wheelchair to wrap him in the tightest hug she must have ever given, a freezing tear rolling down her cheek as his head nestled in her shoulder. </p><p>“Margaery?” She was vaguely aware of Loras’ voice somewhere behind her. “What’s happening?”</p><p>“It’s Bran,” Margaery said, seemingly just as astounded as Sansa. “Her brother.”</p><p>“I thought he was dead?”</p><p>“So did she,” she said. “But...he’s here.”</p><p>The faint sound of Margaery’s words only made Sansa hold Bran harder, remembering exactly what she’d thought she’d lost. The world hardly felt real as she hugged him. </p><p>But although she was barely aware of it at the time, <em> he </em>didn’t quite feel real, either. He was too stiff, too unresponsive, and his eyes were open. She couldn’t see him, but it felt like he could see her. There was some strangeness emanating from him, and that might have just been the fact that she hadn’t seen him since he was ten and he was in some ways a different person now, but it felt like more than that. Like he’d been...changed, somehow, in a way she couldn’t quite describe. </p><p>If she didn’t notice it when she was hugging him, though, she definitely noticed hours later when they sat alone by the weirwood tree, his expression almost as blank as the one carved into the trunk. </p><p>He wasn’t looking at her, not directly, and yet she felt so seen. </p><p>“Jon didn’t leave so long ago,” she said. “I wish he could have been here.”</p><p>“Yes,” Bran said. “I need to speak with him.”</p><p>Sansa had no idea what to make of that, and tried to dispel the uneasiness that was building within her. </p><p>“...You’re Father’s last living trueborn son,” she said. </p><p>That got his attention. His eyes flickered to meet hers, filled with some strange curiosity. </p><p>“You’re Lord of Winterfell now.”</p><p>“I can never be lord of Winterfell,” he said, emptily in a way that made her think it masked some deeper sadness. “I can never be lord of anything. I’m the Three-Eyed Raven.”</p><p>
  <em> The what?  </em>
</p><p>“I, uh, don’t know what that means.” She hugged her knees in tighter to her chest. </p><p>“It’s difficult to explain,” he said. </p><p>“Try.” It made a little more sense to her, now: his demeanor was unsettling, sure, but she got the sense that it was troubling him even more. That he’d been through something and hadn’t quite been the same since. “For me, please. I want to understand.”</p><p>“It means I can see...everything. Everything that’s ever happened to everyone, everything that’s happening right now. It’s all pieces right now, fragments. I need to learn to see better.” </p><p>She still didn’t quite understand. She was hardly the world’s greatest skeptic, but the idea of Bran</p><p>But he wasn’t some all-powerful, omniscient being. He was just Bran, the boy she’d grown up watching run around the woods, climbing every surface he could find, shooting arrow after arrow even though he was a terrible shot and was never going to get better. But perhaps that boy was dead now, as the idealistic, lovesick girl she’d once been was gone. </p><p>Her heart ached for the child he had been, for the children they had both been the last time they were together. </p><p>“When the Long Night comes,” he said mournfully, “I must be ready.”</p><p>“How do you know all of this?” she asked. </p><p>“The Three-Eyed Raven taught me.”</p><p>“I thought you were the Three-Eyed Raven?” She still didn’t quite understand what that meant, but perhaps it was hard for him to talk about. </p><p>“I told you. It’s difficult to explain.”</p><p>She sighed. Sansa felt awful for him, she really did, but she couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated. “Bran-”</p><p>“I’m sorry about everything you’ve been through.”</p><p>The words melted from her mouth as he stared into her, a wave of confusion once again hitting her mind. </p><p>“It wasn’t easy for you in King’s Landing, I know that. But I’m so glad you’re happy now, and that you’re home. The pack is coming home now.”</p><p>“I-”</p><p>“You took back Winterfell. You, and Jon, and her. Thank you.”</p><p>“...Her?” Did he mean Margaery? He hadn’t met her yet, had hardly seen her -</p><p>“Margaery Tyrell. She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? And so strong. Like a rose-”</p><p>“That blooms in winter,” Sansa muttered under her breath, along with him. How could he possibly know what she’d said to her that day in the courtyard, when she’d tucked the blue rose into Margaery’s hair?  </p><p>But he knew everything, now, she reminded herself. Somehow, he’d seen that, or he was looking at it now. The pit of her stomach filled with dread, and it felt wrong to fear her brother, but she did, somehow - </p><p>“Who knows where you’d be without her. And the same goes for her, I think. You found each other right when you both needed it.”</p><p>But if he knew about the rose, and what they meant to each other, didn’t that mean he knew -</p><p>He met her gaze again. “You make such a wonderful couple.”</p><p>His words weren’t tinged with any malice, far from that. He sounded, as much as he could, genuinely happy for her. </p><p>But the knowledge that he <em> knew </em>made her skin crawl. He hadn’t met Margaery, but he’d seen her and Sansa together, knew that they were lovers - oh, gods, the things he might have seen -</p><p>But if he could see everything at once, surely he didn’t actually see everything? But he <em> could, </em>perhaps, if he wanted to. He could see anything. He was looking at her, but maybe he was seeing someone else entirely, or maybe he was seeing a thousand different versions of her, crying and running and sleeping all at once, spread out before him like words on a page...</p><p>The sheer understanding of his power overwhelmed her. It was too much, and her head began to spin. </p><p>She grasped onto the ground for comfort, her leather gloves making heavy imprints in the snow. </p><p>“I have to go,” she said hollowly, pulling herself to her feet. “I have a letter I need to write.”</p><p>She had wanted to wait until that evening to do so, but now she urgently needed an excuse to get away from him. It was all too much too quickly, and it hurt that she had to run from <em> Bran, </em>from the brother she had been ecstatic beyond words to see again mere hours ago, but she couldn’t stand to meet his gaze right then. </p><p>Even worse, as her rapid footsteps crunched in the snow beneath her, she wasn’t sure when she’d be able to meet it again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your feedback or thoughts in the comments.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Candle We Lit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Stark siblings are reunited as Arya returns to Winterfell, but her arrival brings complications as Sansa and Margaery face the difficult situation in the south.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa tapped her quill thoughtfully against the worn writing desk. </p>
<p>“Dear Cersei-” Margaery said, before shaking her head. “That sounds far too informal. But calling her Your Grace would imply that we’ve bent the knee, which we haven’t.”</p>
<p>“Lady Lannister?” Sansa offered. </p>
<p>“As much as I’d like to see the look on her face when she reads that...gods, this is only the beginning. We’re definitely overthinking this.”</p>
<p>“Maybe we should write a rough draft. Figure out what we want to say before we write it.”</p>
<p>Margaery nodded. “Good idea.”</p>
<p>She shuffled the seemingly endless pile of documents before finding a blank piece of parchment. </p>
<p>“So, would you say the most important thing is the White Walkers, or the cooperation-”</p>
<p>“Lady Stark!”</p>
<p>Sansa snapped her head up as two guards burst through the doors to the little study. </p>
<p>“...Is this important?” she asked, trying not to grit her teeth. “We’re in the middle of something.”</p>
<p>“There-” the first guard said, but his companion immediately began to speak over him. </p>
<p>“There was a-”</p>
<p>“There was a girl at the-”</p>
<p>“One at a time, please,” Margaery insisted. </p>
<p>“We told her to wait,” the taller of the two said, glaring at the other to silence him. “We were standing right next to her, and when we’d turned around she was gone.”</p>
<p>“She was nothing, milady,” the other said. “Some Wintertown girl.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, she was nothing?” Sansa still couldn’t quite make sense of what they were saying. “What did she want?”</p>
<p>The two guards made furtive eye contact. </p>
<p>“She, uh.” He thinned his lips in a way that told Sansa she probably wasn’t going to like the news. “She claimed to be Arya Stark.” </p>
<p>Sansa looked up at Margaery, her eyes just as full of concern as she was. <em> That can’t be possible.  </em></p>
<p>“She asked us to look for Ser Rodrik, and...Maester Luwin.”</p>
<p>She blinked in disbelief as something like hope began to build within her. Only Arya would know those names, everyone else who’d been at Winterfell back then was either there already or dead. This couldn’t be the ruse of some trickster from Wintertown if the girl knew them. </p>
<p>But Arya was dead, wasn’t she? If she hadn’t been - </p>
<p><em> But I thought Bran was dead too, </em> she realised. <em> And he’s back. Distant, strange, but here. </em></p>
<p>What if she allowed herself to believe that Arya was alive, too? </p>
<p>She gripped the arms of her wooden chair and immediately pulled herself up. “I know where she is,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about her.”</p>
<p>“But Lady Stark-”</p>
<p>“Margaery, can you stay here?” She turned towards her, completely ignoring the protests of the guards. </p>
<p>Margaery nodded, but she looked completely bewildered. “What-”</p>
<p>“If I’m not back in fifteen minutes,” she said, “come down to the crypts.”</p>
<p>“...Alright?”</p>
<p>Sansa looked back at the guards. “Don’t follow me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She rarely came down to the crypts these days, not wanting to be reminded of the death that had plagued her for so long. The smell of rot and mildew permeated the air more than it had the last time she’d been there, although that might have been the results of winter. </p>
<p>It was ironic, perhaps, that she was supposedly meeting one she’d thought to be dead down here. </p>
<p>But maybe Arya really was dead, and she was being lured right into a trap. Her hands trembled as she walked, and not just from the cold. There were enough people who wanted her dead for this to count as a bad idea, and maybe the names of people they’d grown up with weren’t so hard to come by after all. </p>
<p>Then again, only Arya would know to come down here at all, at least she hoped that was the case. The inner workings of Winterfell couldn’t have become such common knowledge in the time she’d been away, it had survived for hundreds of years -</p>
<p>She came to a halt as she spotted a face at the end of the tunnel, right at the foot of her father’s statue. She was so pale in the dark - she must have been there all along, cloaked in the shadow until the rattling of Sansa’s chains gave her away. </p>
<p>“Do I have to call you Lady Stark now?” the figure asked, and in that moment, she knew it was Arya. Her voice was deeper and more mature, but it was unmistakeably <em> her.  </em></p>
<p>“Yes,” Sansa breathed. </p>
<p>Then, before she knew what she was doing, she hitched up her skirts and sprinted the length of the tunnel, her exhaustion forgotten as her feet carried her to her sister. </p>
<p>She pulled Arya into a hug, nestling her head in her thick cloak. <em> She’s real, </em> she thought. <em> Real, and alive, and right here.  </em></p>
<p>She was still so small: Sansa felt like she might snap her in two if she held her any tighter.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t have run from the guards,” she said. </p>
<p>“I didn’t run,” Arya scoffed. “You need better guards.”</p>
<p>Sansa chuckled. “You might be right there.”</p>
<p>“So,” Arya said, pulling away from the embrace. “Lady Stark.”</p>
<p>“Jon left me in charge,” Sansa explained. </p>
<p>“It suits you.”</p>
<p>Sansa cast her eyes down, still not quite sure how to take that particular compliment. “I hope he comes back soon. He’ll be so excited to see you back here, his heart will probably stop.”</p>
<p>Arya smiled at that. </p>
<p>They were quiet for a moment, clearly both unsure what to say to one another. Sansa had never anticipated seeing her sister again, and Arya probably hadn’t either: she hardly knew where to start.</p>
<p>She’d always argued with Arya when she was younger, fought with her over trivial things. For so many years, she’d regretted that, hardly able to remember what the last thing she’d said to her was but not sure she wanted to out of fear that it was something awful. Sansa only hoped that this time she would be able to mend her relationship with her. </p>
<p>“It doesn’t look like him,” Arya said. “Father’s statue, I mean.”</p>
<p>The two of them glanced up at it. She was right, his wooden face was hardly recognisable, looking almost more like their Uncle Benjen than their father. </p>
<p>“It should have been made by someone who knew his face.”</p>
<p>“Everyone who knew his face is gone now,” Sansa said solemnly. </p>
<p>“We’re not.” Arya turned to look at her, a glimmer of hope in her eye. “And our stories aren’t over yet.” </p>
<p>“You’re right.”</p>
<p>“...I hear you killed Joffrey.”</p>
<p>Sansa couldn’t prevent the laugh that pushed itself out of her mouth. “I wish I had. Littlefinger killed him, but he’s dead too now.”</p>
<p>Arya thinned her lips. “I wish I had too. I was so angry when I heard someone else had done it. No matter how many names ended up on my list, he was always first.”</p>
<p>“...Your list?”</p>
<p>Arya looked at her as if she should have already known what that meant. “Of the people I’m going to kill.” </p>
<p>It sounded like a joke, but Sansa knew it wasn’t. She had no idea how to react to that. </p>
<p>“How, uh…” She began to fidget with the little Needle at the end of her chain. “How did you get back to Winterfell?”</p>
<p>“It’s a long story, and not a good one,” she said. “I’m sure yours is the same.”</p>
<p>Sansa nodded. “You’d be right-”</p>
<p>“Sansa!” </p>
<p>An all-too-familiar voice echoed down the crypt, along with the sound of footsteps. As Sansa turned around, she saw a dimly lit flurry of turquoise barrelling towards her. </p>
<p>“It’s alright,” she said. She should have been more mindful of the time it would have taken her to actually speak to Arya: Margaery must have feared the worst. “It’s her.”</p>
<p>Margaery stopped a few feet away from them, her expression quickly shifting from panic to relief. “Oh.”</p>
<p>Arya glanced uncertainly at Sansa. “Who…”</p>
<p>“Arya, this is Margaery,” Sansa said. “She helped us defeat the Boltons, and she’s helping me command Winterfell in Jon’s absence.” </p>
<p>“...Oh,” Arya said, still looking unsure. </p>
<p>“It’s nice to meet you,” Margaery said, flashing a genuine smile. Sansa knew her smiles well enough to know when she was putting on a show and when she wasn’t: for now, at least, she wasn’t. “I’ve heard so much about you.” </p>
<p>“You have?” </p>
<p>“I-”</p>
<p>Arya’s eyes widened. “Hold on. You’re...you’re not Margaery <em> Tyrell </em>, are you?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Ah.  </em>
</p>
<p>“Unfortunately,” Margaery said. </p>
<p>“...You were married to Joffrey.”</p>
<p>Margaery nodded. </p>
<p>“I am so sorry,” Arya said, her tone dripping with mock-sincerity, and Sansa breathed a momentary sigh of relief as Margaery chuckled. For a moment, she’d been worried Arya would be hesitant to trust her, as some other Northerners had. “That must have been awful.” </p>
<p>“It’s alright.” Margaery smirked. “It was a mercifully short marriage. And I-”</p>
<p>She looked up at Sansa urgently, but Sansa couldn’t figure out why.</p>
<p><em> I’m not a mind-reader, Margaery, </em> Sansa thought somewhat irritably. <em> I don’t know what - </em></p>
<p>She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration as she realised what she was getting at. <em> Seven hells, how many times do I have to do this?  </em></p>
<p>“And you what?” Arya asked, looking between the two of them. </p>
<p>Shit, she didn’t want Arya to think they were keeping something from her. </p>
<p>“Margaery and I are together,” she blurted out. Perhaps she should have cared about how Arya took that specific piece of information, but after telling Jon and the Tyrells and everyone in Winterfell <em> except </em>Bran, she just wanted to get it over with. </p>
<p>Arya raised her eyebrows. “You mean…”</p>
<p>“I don’t really know what the right word is,” Sansa said. </p>
<p>“Oh,” Arya said. She glanced between Sansa and Margaery, then back at Sansa. </p>
<p>Sansa spun her Needle between her fingers faster and faster, anxious for a response and grateful that her restless fidgeting wasn’t so visible in the dark. </p>
<p>“I didn’t expect that,” Arya finally admitted. “But that’s nice. I’m glad you haven’t been alone here without Jon.”</p>
<p>“I…” Perhaps now wasn’t the right time to bring up Bran. “I suppose so. I’m just glad you’re not disgusted or anything.”</p>
<p>There was still an uncertainty in Arya’s eyes that Sansa couldn’t quite decode, but it didn’t look like disgust or hatred. </p>
<p>“Oh, of course not,” Arya said. “Besides, you’d be surprised how open-minded people in Braavos are.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been to <em> Braavos </em>?” Sansa asked. “Seven hells.”</p>
<p><em> Don’t sound too excited, </em> she reminded herself. <em> I have no idea what she went through there.  </em></p>
<p>“I’ve been to a lot of places,” Arya said.  </p>
<p>Margaery gave a little laugh. “From what I can gather, Westeros is just terribly backwards.” </p>
<p>“That sounds about right,” Sansa said. </p>
<p>Arya chuckled. “It’s funny, really. Remember how obsessed you were with marrying Joffrey and having...what did you say? Little princes and princesses? And now you’re with his widow.”</p>
<p>Margaery gaped at Sansa. “<em> Little princes and princesses </em>?”</p>
<p>“Can we not-” Sansa squeezed her eyes shut as she cringed, feeling her cheeks turning bright red. “I should have known you would embarrass me in front of my - in front of Margaery.” </p>
<p>Arya grinned mischievously, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel comforted by her teasing behaviour. She had at least retained some of the girl she had been, then, which was a good sign. </p>
<p>“Oh, don’t worry,” Margaery said. “I’m sure Loras will embarrass me plenty in good time.” </p>
<p>The atmosphere between the three of them felt...calm, somehow. Friendly, even. Both of which were much better than Sansa could have anticipated, though maybe her bad experience with Bran’s return might have put a damper on her hopes for Arya. </p>
<p>
  <em> Shit. Bran.  </em>
</p>
<p>“Is everything alright?” Arya asked. She must have seen Sansa’s face fall. </p>
<p>She was going to have to find out eventually. Better to do it sooner rather than later. </p>
<p>“Arya,” she said cautiously. “Bran is here too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He spent most of his time out by the weirwood tree, now. He hardly ever came back for meals - did he even need to eat, now, Sansa wondered, or did he just enjoy the solitude of eating alone? Either way, he’d managed to detach himself from the rest of Winterfell in the past few days, passing the time staring into the carved face on the tree. </p>
<p>As Sansa approached him, she felt the cold fear begin to pool in her stomach again. </p>
<p><em> I have nothing to be afraid of, </em> she reminded herself. <em> He is my brother, and he is probably just as scared as I am.  </em></p>
<p>The second she saw him, Arya practically flung herself into his wheelchair, crouching down awkwardly to give him a hug. </p>
<p>She was beaming with relief, but she had seen Sansa’s expression. She must have known something was amiss. </p>
<p>Bran stared at Sansa over Arya’s shoulder, and she immediately shifted her gaze, feeling deeply unsettled. </p>
<p>“I saw you at the crossroads,” Bran said, and Arya pulled away slightly. </p>
<p>“...You saw me?”</p>
<p>“I see quite a lot now,” he said sadly.</p>
<p>Sansa shifted her weight between her feet awkwardly. “Bran has...visions, now.”</p>
<p>Arya didn’t look like she understood it any more than she had a few seconds ago, which was completely understandable. </p>
<p>“At first I thought you would go to King’s Landing,” Bran said. </p>
<p>Arya froze. “So did I.” </p>
<p>Sansa glanced at her nervously. “Why would you go back there?”</p>
<p>“Cersei’s on her list of names.” </p>
<p>
  <em> ...Oh, no.  </em>
</p>
<p>She did her best to hide her shock at that revelation, simply nodding while internally her mind raced at a thousand miles per hour, thinking <em> if Arya finds out that we’re trying to side with Cersei - no, not side with her, I still hate her, I mean I don’t blame Arya for wanting her dead but would it kill her just to let us get the help we need from her - gods, she’s going to have to find out eventually, isn’t she - </em></p>
<p>“Who else is on your list?” Sansa asked, desperately trying to maintain a calm, inquisitive demeanor. </p>
<p>“Most of them are dead already,” Arya said placidly. </p>
<p>“I would expect nothing less.” Sansa allowed one corner of her mouth to twitch into a smirk. </p>
<p><em> Bran knows. </em> Her mind flooded with panic suddenly. <em> Bran knows that I need Cersei alive, and Arya wants Cersei dead.  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Maybe he knows I know he knows. Can he read minds? Shit, what if he can read minds - </em>
</p>
<p>“I didn’t kill all of them,” Arya said. “Unfortunately. There aren’t many names left. Cersei, the Mountain, Ilyn Payne, the people who killed our father and wronged our family.”</p>
<p>“Oh, the Mountain’s dead too,” Sansa said. “He won a trial by combat, but he died from an infected wound.”</p>
<p>“...I hope it was painful,” Arya said. </p>
<p>“I expect it was. He deserved nothing less.”</p>
<p>Why was Sansa always cursed to end up in such a difficult position? She understood Arya’s rage, felt it in every fiber of her being as she remembered how each of those people had hurt her and taken those she loved. But it just so happened that one of those people might have been the key to defending the North - no, not just the north, all of Westeros. </p>
<p>“I admire your determination,” she said, “but you wouldn’t leave for King’s Landing now, would you? To kill Cersei, I mean.”</p>
<p>“I’ve just come home, Sansa,” Arya said. “As much as I want her dead, I wouldn’t just leave you now.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Sansa said. “Because we need you here. It’s going to be a difficult winter, and we need all the support we can get.”</p>
<p><em> From you and from Cersei, </em>she thought bitterly. </p>
<p>Arya only nodded solemnly. “I know. But we’re all here now. It’s like Father always said: the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”</p>
<p>Bran’s mouth contorted into something resembling a smile. “Didn’t I tell you the pack was coming home?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The three of them strode back into the courtyard together, the Starks back in Winterfell at last. </p>
<p>Robb, Rickon, Father and Mother might have all been dead, but as the snow fell around them and every eye in the courtyard turned to face them, Sansa couldn’t help but feel a swell of triumph and pride for her family. Against all the odds, they had made it home: shaken, changed, damaged, but still alive and still fighting for not just their legacy but their future. </p>
<p>Sansa caught sight of Margaery, chatting away happily to Loras as he sharpened his sword. </p>
<p>“Is that Loras Tyrell?” Arya asked. “Seven hells, I haven’t seen him in years.”</p>
<p>Margaery looked up, and smiled eagerly at the Stark siblings, beckoning them over. “Bran! It’s lovely to see you again.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been busy,” he said blankly. </p>
<p>“...I’m sure you have.”</p>
<p>Loras glanced up from his sword, and did a double take. “Arya Stark?”</p>
<p>Arya grinned. “The one and only.”</p>
<p>“I’m-”</p>
<p>“Loras, I know. I remember you. The Knight of the Flowers,” Arya said thoughtfully. “I last saw you at the tourney. Gods, that was years ago, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>“You were so small back then,” Loras said. “So was your sister.” His gaze turned to Sansa. “In fact, I distinctly remember her blushing and grinning ear to ear when I gave her a rose that day.”</p>
<p>Sansa rolled her eyes. “Is everyone determined to embarrass me today?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” the three of them said in union, and Sansa laughed. </p>
<p>She felt another small victory at that, the easy camaraderie that was slowly returning to them. She, Arya and Bran might have spent years apart, and Loras and Margaery might have been completely new to them, but slowly and surely they were becoming accustomed to one another. Even Bran showed the ghost of a smile. </p>
<p>Loras’ gaze fell to Arya’s side. “That’s... a nice sword.” </p>
<p>She glanced down at it. “Jon gave it to me.”</p>
<p>“Do you fight?”</p>
<p>Arya shrugged. “Here and there.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be so modest,” Sansa said. “Yes, she does, and from what I remember she’s incredible.”</p>
<p>She must have been, now, if she’d killed so many people.</p>
<p>Loras raised his eyebrows cockily. “Incredible?”</p>
<p>“Would you like to find out?”</p>
<p>Margaery’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them. “Right here?” </p>
<p>“Why not,” Loras said, pulling his own sword out of its hilt. “If the lady wants to.”</p>
<p>Sansa couldn’t restrain a chuckle. “Oh, don’t even-”</p>
<p>“I’m not a lady,” Arya said, drawing Needle with a satisfying whoosh. </p>
<p>“Should we step back?” Margaery muttered. </p>
<p>“Oh, definitely,” Sansa said, shuffling back in the snow and giving Arya and Loras a wide berth. </p>
<p>Margaery grabbed onto Bran’s chair and pulled him towards them. “Do you think she can beat him?” she asked.</p>
<p>“I know who’ll win,” Bran said, and for the first time since he returned Sansa heard a playful tone in his voice. </p>
<p>“Don’t tell us!” she implored. “Don’t spoil the surprise.” </p>
<p>The three of them looked out at Arya and Loras, who were circling each other. </p>
<p>“Don’t you think that sword’s a little thin?” he asked. </p>
<p>“I won’t cut you,” she said coldly, and Sansa smiled proudly. </p>
<p>“Arya’s definitely going to, though,” she said to Margaery, who gasped. </p>
<p>“Oh, you are so - <em> ohh!” </em>She cried out as Loras lunged at Arya, who ducked. “Come on, Loras!”</p>
<p>He lunged again, and Arya immediately whirled around and placed Needle under his chin. He recoiled in surprise as she walked around him, a cocky smile on her face. </p>
<p>Sansa cheered loudly, the sound ringing through the cold morning air. “Yes, Arya!”</p>
<p>Loras stepped back, and gripped his sword again. </p>
<p>“Ooh, here we go again,” Margaery said excitedly. “She’s good, though.”</p>
<p>Arya twirled her sword theatrically as Loras hacked at the air in front of her again, nimbly evading his strikes. He gritted his teeth in frustration. </p>
<p>“Was she always this good?” Margaery asked. </p>
<p>“Not <em> this </em>good,” Sansa said. “She must have been practising.”</p>
<p>“I’ll say,” Margaery said. </p>
<p>Sansa winced as Arya arched her back, seeming to come painstakingly close to falling on her back as Loras sliced his sword through the air above her to no avail. </p>
<p>“...Is it bad that I might be hoping she beats him?” Margaery whispered. </p>
<p>Sansa grinned. “Not at all-”</p>
<p>Her words were cut off as Loras kicked Arya sharply in the stomach and she fell to the ground. </p>
<p>“Shit,” Margaery breathed. “Arya, are you all right-”</p>
<p>She immediately jumped back on her feet and lunged at him, catching him completely off guard. </p>
<p>“Oh!” Sansa called out as their swords once again resumed their click-clacking rhythm.  “Yes, come on, come-”</p>
<p>Arya spun around once more, lightning-fast, and put Needle under Loras’ chin. </p>
<p>“I yield!” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “I yield.”</p>
<p>Sansa and Margaery let out a huge cheer, their applause muffled through gloved hands. Gods, they must have been annoying everyone else in the courtyard. </p>
<p>“Seven hells, Arya!” Margaery said. “You <em> are </em> incredible.”</p>
<p>“I thought you were on my side!” Loras said indignantly, sliding his sword back into its sheath. </p>
<p>Margaery shrugged innocently. “You’ve got to be on your guard, Loras. Can’t trust anyone around here.”</p>
<p>“Yes you <em> can,” </em>Sansa said. “Not her, though.”</p>
<p>“I’m aware of <em> that,” </em>he said. “But really, well done, Arya. Who taught you to do that?”</p>
<p>She shrugged mysteriously. “No one.”</p>
<p>Bran chuckled knowingly, which unsettled Sansa. </p>
<p>“...Anyway,” she said. “It’s so wonderful to have you back.”</p>
<p>“It’s wonderful to <em> be </em>back,” Arya said, glancing up at the stone walls of the castle wistfully. “I never thought I’d see this place again.”</p>
<p>Loras sighed. “With all that troublesome business with Cersei, it’s nice to get a rest from it all.” </p>
<p>“What business with Cersei?” Arya said, and Sansa’s blood went cold. </p>
<p>She wanted to make furtive eye contact with Margaery, but she resisted the urge, knowing it would make the situation look even worse than it was. </p>
<p>“Um,” she said, trying to regulate the shaking of her voice. “Cersei sent us a letter.”</p>
<p>“A letter?” Arya’s eyes widened so much Sansa feared they might pop out. “What about?”</p>
<p>“Oh, just some trade...thing,” Sansa said. “We need more grain for the winter, but she’s trying to funnel it from Highgarden to the Lannister troops. It would be easy enough to sort out if dealing with her wasn’t like walking on hot coals: one wrong step and she might kill us all, you know how it is.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Sansa couldn’t tell if Arya sounded convinced or not. “That doesn’t sound...ideal.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t,” Sansa said. “Which is why we need to try and sort it out soon.”</p>
<p>Margaery nodded in agreement, as Loras looked utterly confused.</p>
<p>“I’m...going to settle back into my room,” Arya said. “I’ll sort my things out. You haven’t given it away, have you?”</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Sansa said. “It’s exactly as you left it.”</p>
<p>She’d wanted to teasingly insult her, say <em> and just as messy </em>and have her laugh knowingly, but it just felt wrong, knowing that she was keeping things from her. </p>
<p>Sansa thought she’d learned that lying was never a good solution by now, that it always resulted in a big entangled mess, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth, not knowing Arya wanted Cersei dead. </p>
<p><em> Perhaps this time will be different, </em> she thought. <em> Perhaps it will all work out in the end.  </em></p>
<p>But as she watched Arya disappear into the castle, she knew perfectly well that it wouldn’t. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I really want to show the complex relationship between Arya and Sansa in this fic, I know it would be natural for them to mistrust each other after such a long time (and especially given the Cersei situation here) but I feel like the writers pitted them against each other sometimes just to create drama (though that could be said of a lot of characters). Basically, I want to show them wanting to like and trust each other but finding that difficult because of their situations. <br/>Anyway, feel free to tell me your thoughts or feedback in the comments.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. On The Creature Scratches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Margaery and Sansa finally receive word from Cersei, and Arya becomes suspicious.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Sansa!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa looked up from her needlework. She should perhaps have felt guilty for taking the time for embroidery when she had so much on her mind, but it was incredibly relaxing, the repetitive motion of the needle weaving through the fabric and the mindless, flowing movements of her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery stepped into their room. “I have something you might want to take a look at.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a bright smile on her face, and she was clutching a letter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A letter. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She threw the half-embellished bodice to one side and sprung up. “Is that-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery nodded. “From King’s Landing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa raised her eyebrows. “You seem awfully optimistic about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see why I shouldn’t be,” she said, walking towards her chair by the fireside. “I have a good feeling about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa wasn’t quite sure why, but she didn’t want to put a damper on Margaery’s happiness. Besides, they’d all been in a relatively good mood lately: with Arya, Bran, Loras and Olenna all with them, and Jon hopefully on his way home too, the atmosphere in Winterfell had been relatively upbeat of late. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though Sansa was well aware that could change any minute. A small part of her almost prayed that Cersei declined their terms: at least then she wouldn’t have to face Arya’s ire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lady Stark,” Margaery read, and Sansa reached for the little Needle at the end of her necklace with clammy hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ ‘I laid out my demands as clearly as you have done. I will not beseech you to bend the knee to me. But if you do so to the would-be Targaryen usurper, rest assured that your head will decorate the walls of the Red Keep right next to the Dragon Queen’s.’ ” Margaery looked up from the letter and scoffed. “Friendly as always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that sounds more like the Cersei we know and love,” Sansa said sardonically. “Keep going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery took a deep breath. “ ‘You speak of mythical creatures from beyond the Wall, of monsters from children’s stories. I do not know if these are the delusional ramblings of a foolish young girl - sorry, Sansa - or an attempt to trick me into believing the realm is in great peril. If you take me for a fool, you are mistaken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nevertheless, I am a woman of my word, and I promised to oblige with your terms. I do not know how many men you require for this supposed threat, but the Lord Commander and I would be willing to negotiate a number and have them sent North accordingly, on the condition that none of your men will be used to attack the Lannister forces. Any violation of our terms will result in you being convicted of treason and executed promptly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not mistake my decency for allyship. The North will be left to its own devices, as we agreed. In return, you will not aid the Targaryen conqueror in her attempt to take my throne.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Queen Cersei Lannister, First of her Name, Queen of the…” Margaery set the letter down on her lap. “You know the rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa let the Needle fall back to its resting place on her abdomen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So this means…” She allowed the corners of her mouth to twitch. “She’s giving us what we wanted?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery looked up slowly, and met Sansa’s eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at that,” Sansa said, trying not to sound too impressed. “It worked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It worked!” Margaery said. “Gods, I would have killed to see her face when she read this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa let out a laugh. “Oh, gods, can you imagine. She must have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>infuriated.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And whose idea was that?” Margaery asked, looking pointedly at Sansa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we both-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up.” She jumped out of her chair and enveloped Sansa in a tight hug. “It was yours, you beautiful genius.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know about genius,” Sansa said, her face half-buried in Margaery’s mass of hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” Margaery said. “Though this does mean we have to write more letters to Cersei.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa huffed. “After we get those Lannister troops to Winterfell, I never want to send another raven again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll second that.” Margaery interlaced her fingers on the back of Sansa’s neck, ruffling her hair. “We never did hear back from Jon, did we?”. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Though I wonder if responding to us would have been too much of a risk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery quirked an eyebrow. “You make it sound as if Daenerys is holding him hostage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa shrugged. “At this point, I don’t even know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The important thing is,” Margaery said reassuringly, “that he knows what we’ve said to Cersei. And besides!” She glanced down at the letter, crumpling the edges with her fingers. “We have the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms right where we want her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sanas smirked. “We do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, although she tried to seem as if she was as gleeful as Margaery at the outcome of their situation, she couldn’t help but feel her joy curdle in her stomach. She knew exactly how Arya would react if she found out about this, and it could jeopardize everything they’d achieved in these past few weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it was worth the rift that would inevitably form between her and Arya, in the long run at least, but right then Sansa found it incredibly difficult to rationalise that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Quiet, quiet!” Margaery attempted to shout over the din of angry chatter that was quickly forming in the Great Hall, but it was useless. It wasn’t as if these congregations of the Northern lords were usually a quiet affair, but today they were particularly riled up, and Sansa couldn’t quite figure out why. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Karstark, please,” Sansa said, as the noise died down incrementally. “I understand we are in a very precarious position, and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jolted in her chair as she spotted Arya slinking into the back of the hall, moving with the shadows. She did that so often, now: Sansa sometimes thought she moved more like a cat than a person, every step calculated and precise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She has every right to be here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she told herself, as that cold buzz of fear returned to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The King in the North should remain in the North!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa hastily turned her head back to the mass of people sitting at the tables beneath her. “I wish Jon could be here too. But he is making incredibly important negotiations as we speak, and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We did not choose you to rule us, my lady,” he continued, cutting her off. “But maybe we should have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa gripped the arms of her chair tightly, not quite sure what to make of that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not Jon. Even if I am a good leader, I didn’t do what he did for the North. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surprisingly, the commander of the Tyrell army stood up. Sansa had absolutely no idea where this meeting was going now: it certainly wasn’t in the direction she had hoped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The armies of the Reach came here for Lady Margaery,” he said. “And for you, Lady Stark. Without you both, the Starks would not be back in Winterfell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally, there would have been a vague mumbling noise of agreement or disagreement, steering the direction of the meeting, but this time the whole room was silent. Sansa’s heart quickened: </span>
  <em>
    <span>why is no one saying anything? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt Margaery’s eyes on her, and glanced to her left. Margaery raised her eyebrows at her, as if to ask her what she was going to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Do they want...me to speak? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glanced back at the crowded hall, feeling the stifling heat of the candles beside her despite the chill that permeated the air. “You are too kind, my lords. But Jon is our king, and he is doing what he thinks is best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>garnered a reaction. Immediately, all two hundred or so of those gathered began to mutter to each other: some nodding, some shaking their heads, some banging their fists on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no general feeling in the room; everyone was completely divided. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should have done something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should have convinced Jon to stay, or encouraged him to come back in my letter, or - oh, I don’t know. Fixed this somehow. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes flickered to the dark corners of the hall, where she once again found Arya lurking. She met her gaze, and Arya quirked an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa pursed her lips, hopefully conveying the fact that she had no idea what was going on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And when will the King in the North return?” someone shouted, and the chatter died down. “When will he be back to do what he’s supposed to do and rule?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa sighed. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I warned Jon this would happen,” Sansa said, steering Arya out of the hall and up in the general direction of her chambers. “He couldn’t leave the North and just expect it to sit and wait for him like Ghost did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was grateful she’d managed to catch Arya after the meeting, and hoped she would be able to clarify what was going on. Arya had only been home for so long, she didn’t fully understand the problems the North was facing at that point, and Sansa hadn’t quite had the opportunity to talk them through with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, in her mind she was grateful. The tension tightening her chest at the knowledge that they had come to an agreement with the woman Arya despised most in the world was telling her another thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Sansa didn’t have to tell her that yet. Hopefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He trusted you to hold it for him,” Arya said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Sansa sighed. “He did what he had to do. I just wish he’d made it a little easier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They turned a corner, and entered Sansa and Margaery’s chambers. Margaery and Loras had a meeting with the Tyrell commander, and Sansa had hoped she and Arya would be able to sit down by the fire and have a serious conversation, but now they were actually in front of the fireplace every nerve in her body was screaming at her to go back and send Arya away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya came to a stop in the middle of the dark room. “These are Mother and Father’s chambers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa didn’t quite know how to take that statement. “And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya cast her eyes to the floor. “Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do what?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa tilted her head expectantly. “Please, Arya. Say what you mean to say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could feel the tension rippling off Arya in waves. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, Arya. Talk to me, please. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did always like nice things,” Arya said coolly. “They made you feel better about yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you angry with me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa could have stepped closer to Arya, preparing for an argument, but instead she sank herself down into the wooden chair by the fireside. She didn’t know how to tell Arya she didn’t want a fight, and prayed that doing so would show that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were insulting Jon,” Arya said, “and you sat there and listened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I listened to their complaints, which is my responsibility as acting Lady of Winterfell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She might have guessed that Arya would be angry at her for that. She had always preferred Jon, always held him closer in her heart. Sansa had never really resented Arya for that, but right now it was getting on her last nerve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you care about their opinions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I do! Glover has five hundred men, Royce has two thousand. Offend them, and Jon loses his army.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure when the bitter edge had crept into her voice, but she couldn’t take it back now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, Arya.” She rose from her chair, unable to stay still anymore. “Winterfell didn’t just fall into our hands. We fought to take it back: us, and the Mormonts, and the Wildlings, and the Reach. All of us, working together. I know it hurts to hear people insult Jon, it hurts me too, but sometimes we have to listen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya glared up at her. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m a child.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not-” she started, but the sentence fizzled out on her tongue. “I don’t understand why you’re angry all of a sudden.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe she had been foolish to assume that everything was going well, that she and Arya were on good terms. Arya was a different person, now, and while she saw the same girl she’d grown up with when she looked at her, there was something completely altered behind her eyes. Though she supposed Arya saw that too when she looked at Sansa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not angry,” Arya said. “I’m just wondering.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Wondering what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took a step closer to Sansa. “I can’t help but feel as though you’re keeping something from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m not,” she said, but she knew her expression gave her away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everywhere I go,” Arya continued, “I see people looking at me. Sometimes they seem scared of me, sometimes it seems like they pity me, but always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it feels like there’s some big secret I’m not in on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can understand why you’d feel like that,” Sansa said. “Winterfell has changed-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and Bran both seem to be dealing with the changes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could feel Arya studying her face, every inch and crevice and flicker of an eye. “So you deny it then. You don’t have anything to tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If I tell her now, she might never forgive me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But if I don’t tell her...she also might never forgive me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa swallowed. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya raised her eyebrows, as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t believe you for a second, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she seemed to concede. “Good,” she said. “I hoped that was the case.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Right,” Sansa said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to sort out the proceedings for the grain shipments from the Reach.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya nodded curtly. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa sat herself down at her desk as Arya began to walk away, picking up her quill and twirling it in her fingers. She could still feel a knot of tension in her chest growing by the second, agitated by the fact that not only had Arya suspected she was up to something, but also that she’d allowed herself to become tangled in more and more lies as she tried to keep herself and the people around her safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bran’s supposed to be the one who knows everything, not you, Arya. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And yet Arya was giving her the same unnerving feeling as Bran right then, with her quick, sharp judgements of Sansa’s concealed feelings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She’ll have to find out eventually, and when she does this will all come crashing down on me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could never please everyone, she had come to realise. And when she tried to, she usually ended up pleasing no one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what she didn’t realise, right then, was that Margaery had left the letter from Cersei on the chest of drawers by their bed, not knowing that Arya would be there later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And what Sansa didn’t notice was Arya surreptitiously glancing at the letter, then slipping it in her pocket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps Margaery shouldn’t have felt quite so self-satisfied at their victory regarding Cersei, but she couldn’t suppress the twitching of her mouth into a grin as she walked through the halls of Winterfell, her long fur cloak trailing behind her on the cold stone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d managed to settle an unfortunate situation which had arisen about doubts within the Tyrell armies about the legitimacy of the threat beyond the wall, and had needed both Loras and her grandmother to speak to them and settle their doubts. No, none of them had ever seen a White Walker: yes, they trusted Jon Snow, and no, they were not being used as cannon fodder for someone else’s war, because this was everyone’s war, and if they didn’t win - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lady Margaery.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery pressed a hand to her heart as Arya slinked out of a corner. “Arya,” she breathed. “Please, don’t sneak up on me like that.” She laughed. “Gods, you almost scared the living daylights out of m-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her words died on her tongue as she saw the serious expression on Arya’s face. She was looking up at Margaery with contempt, tilting her head as if testing her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery’s mouth opened of her own accord. “...I’m sorry, is something the matter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya stepped closer, and Margaery couldn’t help but feel as if she was being threatened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you don’t take me for a fool,” she said coolly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wh - of course I don’t.” Margaery had thought she and Arya had been getting on well up until this point, so what was going wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya laughed snidely. “Don’t lie to me, Lady Margaery. Or is it Lady Baratheon? I can’t quite recall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery narrowed her eyes as a flash of anger burned through her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arya,” she said. “Please, whatever you think I’ve done, I didn’t mean to offend you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to like you,” Arya said, cutting Margaery off. “Really, I did. I wanted to come home to Winterfell, settle down, and have that be that. But I’m beginning to find that the people in my home are just as treacherous as the people outside it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you wouldn’t mind,” Margaery said bitterly, “can you please stop being cryptic and just tell me what your issue is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want, Margaery?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know, what does anyone want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Just give me a straight answer, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, frustrated, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and I could sort this all out. Come on, Arya. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been asking around, about your involvement in the battle for Winterfell,” Arya said. “I heard you managed to get together the troops that saved our side. That you’re some sort of hero. But what I also hear, is that Sansa had to promise to make you Lady of Winterfell for you to help us in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true-” she started, but she bit her lip, because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But it hadn’t been like that, not really…but then again, she’d had her hesitations…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Margaery said blatantly. “I wanted to help Sansa because I care about her, and I wanted her to have her home back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya took a second to think. She glanced thoughtfully at the worn stone of the floor, tapping her feet in the still silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I used to feel sorry for you,” she said finally. “For having to marry into that awful family. I thought I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” She glanced up at Margaery, and her blue eyes seared right through her soul. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So much like Sansa’s, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and yet so different. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But then I realised, you didn’t have to do that, did you? You wanted to be queen. And now that you’ve been shoved out of King’s Landing, you see another opportunity for power in the North.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t know me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, curling her fingers in agitation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t know what I want. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m here because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>care-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bullshit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya simply quirked an eyebrow. “I know what you’re here for. It would sound nice, wouldn’t it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Queen in the North.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was she simply trying to get a rise out of Margaery, or did she genuinely believe what she was saying? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There will be other opportunities. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Loras’ words, from...what, a year ago, now, came flooding back to her. Other places to reach for power, he’d meant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that had been so long ago, now, and even if she’d wanted it then, she didn’t want it anymore, of course. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What if I do? </span>
  </em>
  <span>That insidious thought crept into her mind, as Arya’s steely eyes bore into hers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Am I still lying to everyone all the time, using everyone as a pawn to get what I want? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had she just been using </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sansa </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get what she wanted?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arya,” she said hollowly. “Listen to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took a step towards her, closing the gap between them. “You’re right. About one thing. When I was your age, all I ever wanted was to become queen. It was all I’d ever dreamed of, and I don’t even want to think about the lengths I was willing to go to to get there. I thought it would make me so happy, but in the end, it didn’t. I got there, and I was still unsatisfied. Believe me, chasing that again is the last thing I want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was she talking to Arya, or herself? Neither of them were being particularly receptive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glanced down towards Arya’s eyes, trying to make a connection. “You want...your revenge, don’t you? That’s what you want most in the world. And I respect that: you deserve it, after all you’ve been through. And I know you’re angry, and scared, but believe me, you cannot let that drive you. I would be sceptical too, if I were you, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Convenient, isn’t it? You telling me to trust you, that I shouldn’t take my revenge, when the person at the top of my list is the one you’re conspiring with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I’m sorry, that person would be?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who was complicit in the deaths of my father, mother and brother? Who tried to tear the Stark family inside out, who held my sister hostage and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cersei,” Margaery breathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you are,” Arya said menacingly. “She was your mother, wasn’t she, for quite some time? I can imagine you were very good friends, I know schemers and liars like to flock together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arya, I understand you don’t want to trust me, but making up-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya shook her head slowly. “I’m not making it up, am I? Because correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve promised her that the North will not bend the knee or harm the Lannisters in exchange for, what, a few thousand men?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery’s mind flooded with cold panic. “Did Sansa tell you that?” Her voice was shaking, despite her best efforts to still it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. But you really shouldn’t leave things lying around like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery kicked herself internally. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The fucking letter. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d left it on the cabinet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t yours to read.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a feeling everyone was keeping something from me.” Margaery could feel the anger rippling off Arya, the tension in her jaw. “I really, really wanted to be proved wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled the letter out of her pocket. “But I wasn’t. It’s funny, isn’t it, how all the threats and violence are aimed at Sansa. Not a mention of Margaery Tyrell’s pretty little head on a spike.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t understand.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, please let her listen to the truth. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Cersei approached us first - we couldn’t just ignore her, we had to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You had to give her everything she wanted? The only thing that woman deserves is my sword through her heart, and you’re sat up here pandering to her demands?” Arya gritted her teeth, and took a step back. “Forget it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shoved the letter back in her pocket and began to walk away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arya, wait-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t bother,” Arya spat over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery hitched her skirts up and ran after her. “Don’t just leave - for fuck’s sake, if you just let me explain-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She froze in pure fear as Arya whipped out Needle, holding it out in front of her with the tip just about pointed at Margaery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you follow me,” she hissed, “I will not hesitate to gut you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in her eyes told Margaery she wasn’t bluffing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I…” Margaery’s breath caught in her throat as Arya walked away, slipping Needle back into its hilt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glanced around helplessly, still breathing heavily, recovering from the shock. There was nothing she could do, or at least that was how it felt: her mind was coming to a standstill as she tried to think her way out of this corner somehow, figure out what she could do to make Arya understand the truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She must be going to talk to Sansa again. She has to be. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery wasn’t sure who Sansa would trust more: her sister, or her lover. She’d never wanted to find out, and she had desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it had, and there was nothing she could do about it, at least not yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can wait, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If Arya sees me following her now she might...well, make good on her promise. But if I interrupt their conversation, tell her the truth…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She willed her hands to stop shaking as she stood, waiting, counting the seconds and waiting for the sound of Arya’s footsteps to vanish. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading!<br/>For the record, and because it's difficult to get across from Margaery's perspective: I don't think Arya is being irrational at all. I think her experience with people like Margaery (or the people she thinks are like her) would definitely cast a shadow on her trust of her, and her history with Cersei also definitely wouldn't help in this situation. I don't think she's in the right necessarily, but also she would be bound to distrust Margaery.<br/>Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Battle Cries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa struggles to make things right as Arya confronts her about the letter from Cersei. Olenna brings news from King's Landing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Sansa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice from the doorway startled Sansa: she dropped her quill, ink splattering across the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya,” she said, hurriedly turning around. She was loitering in her doorway, unmoving, watching Sansa from across the room. “You’re back. Is everything...I mean, are you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression was completely unreadable. Arya simply glanced around the room nonchalantly, her eyes moving slowly from the window to the four-poster bed at the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the same bed that Mother and Father used to sleep in,” she said. “I remember, I always used to get scared of the dark as a child. I never would have told you that, of course, I liked to pretend I was so much braver than you, but when the nights got cold and the floors creaked, I used to run across the hall to this room. Mother would see me in the doorway and ask me what was the matter. I wouldn’t say anything, I’d just jump into bed with them and they’d reassure me that there was nothing there, that it was only the wind or the servants or the fireplace” The ghost of a smile graced her lips. “In the morning, I’d always wake up back in my own bed. I think Father carried me there after I fell asleep again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her words should have been nostalgic, warm, wistful. Instead, there was an undeniable acerbic tone to her voice that set Sansa right back on edge. Not that the half an hour or so Arya was gone had been particularly productive, but her mind was buzzing once again with cold fear as she tried to read something, anything behind Arya’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now they’re both dead,” she said. “Killed by the Lannisters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a letter. Sansa couldn’t make out the words from where she was sitting, but she instantly knew what it was, and her blood went cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya,” she said warningly. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should have known this was going to happen. I should have been more careful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you’d been looking for help,” she said. “I didn’t know where you’d be seeking it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is more important than petty house loyalties-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Petty?” Arya walked toward her, and Sansa couldn’t help but shuffle back in her chair. “This isn’t petty. Cersei Lannister killed Father. You know that. And yet you’re more than willing to conspire with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Conspire with her? I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Margaery Tyrell is pretty, isn’t she? You’ve always liked pretty things. Dolls, dresses, women - then again, dolls don’t manipulate you into giving your enemies what they want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa blinked in disbelief. “I don’t know what you think you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you tell Cersei? Hmm? Did you plead for help, tell her that the North was at its knees and couldn’t possibly keep going without the Lannister men, and that you’d do anything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>for her to help save it? Did Margaery Tyrell stand over you as you wrote that letter, whispering pretty words in your ear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We wrote the letters together. We - listen.” She clasped her hands together in desperation. “I know you’re sceptical of Margaery. You don’t know her. But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know her?” Arya said. “You’re the one who seems to be blind to what she’s doing. You should know better by now to trust people like her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, people like her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People like Cersei Lannister who want to use you to get their hands on the North! I mean, you made her Lady of Winterfell, for fuck’s sake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa got up out of her chair, flinging herself forwards. “It’s an honorary title, and Jon gave it to her, not me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya nodded. “It doesn’t surprise me that Jon’s easily taken in by a pretty face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya, please. There’s no need to be rude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not being rude!” Arya stared at Sansa in disbelief. “I’m trying to protect you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From </span>
  <em>
    <span>Margaery Tyrell!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really wouldn’t question her, no matter what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” She’d answered too quickly - of course she would question Margaery, they disagreed on things all the time, and if their relationship seemed perfect now it hadn’t always been that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But to question the entire motivation behind Margaery’s actions? That was absurd. Of course Margaery wasn’t just using Sansa to take control of the North: if she wanted to, after all, she’d had plenty of opportunities to get rid of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya tilted her head thoughtfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking?” Sansa asked warningly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re telling the truth,” she said. “You really do trust her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which makes me </span>
  <em>
    <span>think,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arya all but spat, “that you knew what I was talking about all along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in King’s Landing far too long, Sansa. I should have known that place would corrupt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Corrupt me? Arya, please, you’re not talking any sense. I need you to listen to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Arya shook her head vehemently. “You must have agreed this together. You, and her, and Cersei…” She squeezed her eyes shut, and for a moment Sansa thought she was about to cry. “I remember you the day Father died. You were standing next to Cersei, the two of you on that platform together. You even did your hair like her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You were there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I was there!” she said, her voice becoming guttural and shaky all of a sudden. “I was standing in the crowd by Baelor’s statue!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what did you do? Did you come running to the rescue, fighting off the Lannisters?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to as well!” She felt her eyes burn with the threat of tears, and willed them not to spill onto her cheeks - she had always been susceptible to the hot, wet sort of anger that closed up the back of your throat and made your eyes sting. “But I couldn’t. Neither of us could - don’t you see? We were both powerless. And we both still are - can you imagine how glad Cersei would be to see us fighting now? This is what she wants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> given her what she wants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya, you’re talking yourself into this.” She gritted her teeth in frustration - of course Arya would find it so difficult to trust her, after all this time, and she would be no different if she was in her position, but she just wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>listening </span>
  </em>
  <span>to her. It was like she didn’t want to trust Sansa at all. “Please. If you just...what can I say that will convince you I’m telling the truth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does Jon know about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“He-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he doesn’t, does he?” She stepped closer to Sansa. “I wonder what he’d say if I told him. He trusted you to look after Winterfell in his absence, and look what you’ve done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I’ve done is tried to protect our home and our people. Do you think I enjoy negotiating with Cersei? Do you think a day goes by when I don’t wish I could make her pay for what she did to me?” Her fists were clenched now, her nails digging into her palms. “I hate that woman, Arya. Possibly more than anyone else in the world, I don’t know. And as for King’s Landing - you think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoyed </span>
  </em>
  <span>it there? You think the abuse I suffered made me want to be like those people? I know you’ve suffered too, and I’m sorry, but you could never imagine what I went through there. I was tormented, manipulated, used as nothing more than a pawn. The only person I had was Margaery. She is the only reason why I’m alive to even be having this conversation, and I-” She felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. “I don’t know what I can say that will change your mind. Clearly you want me to be the villain here, and I - and I can’t change that. I’m sorry, Arya. But please, just - just trust me. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her throat burned as that last </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>left her mouth, ragged from lack of oxygen and shouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya hardly responded. Her eyes were wide, and she blinked a few times in disbelief as Sansa felt the residual anger from her impassioned shouting slowly leave her body, like a slow exhale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sansa.” Arya looked down at the letter in her hands. “I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Arya and Sansa whipped their heads around to see Margaery frantically walking up to the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Margaery, this really isn’t a good time,” Sansa said tentatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Arya said, her voice empty and quiet. “I’ll…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hurried out, not giving Sansa or Margaery a second look as her footsteps pattered across the stone floor and out of earshot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery was still standing in the doorway, frozen. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa slumped back in her chair. “I wish I knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard you shouting from across the corridor. Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I don’t think Arya is, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last I saw of her, she was threatening to gut me. Do you think there’s been an improvement?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think she’s angry, but doesn’t really know what to do with that anger. Sorry about the...death threat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery sighed through clenched teeth. “Do you think she would actually…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. And I want to go and talk to her, but - oh, I don’t know. All I know is I’ve really fucked this up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery sidled into the chair across from Sansa, leaning towards the now rapidly dying fire. “It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if I can’t sort this out, it will be. And if we can’t keep Cersei on our side, if we can’t get the men and support we need from the crown, then we’re fucked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery looked at Sansa in sympathy, her mouth open as if about to say something, but then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a loud knock at the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope I’m not interrupting anything!” Olenna’s muffled voice came from the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery rolled her eyes. “Come in, Grandmother. We’re only talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaned towards Sansa. “Gods, she must think we’re at it like rabbits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa scoffed. “If only we had the time,” she said drily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Olenna said irritably. “Some messenger boy gave me this letter, told me to give it to Lady Stark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, excellent,” Sansa deadpanned. “Just what we needed. Another letter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s it from?” Margaery asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me say her name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cersei, then.” Sansa sat upright in her chair. “What does she want now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on,” Margaery said, “You read it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Olenna shrugged. “What was I supposed to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That could have been private!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s - well, actually, Olenna, it’s not fine, but I really don’t have the energy to think about that right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Olenna handed her the letter wordlessly. Sansa’s eyes skimmed over the page, not wanting to give that hateful woman any more attention than she deserved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an invitation to King’s Landing,” she breathed. “To discuss the terms of a surrender, and the future of the war between the living and the dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s invited me to represent the interests of the North.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t possibly go,” Olenna said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Olenna was right. It would be a terrible idea to go back to King’s Landing: she’d never intended on setting foot in that miserable city again, and knowing Cersei they would be walking into a trap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But to turn it down...what sort of opportunity would she be missing if she turned it down? She would be forsaking the interests of her people, if not the interests of the world itself. Besides, she certainly didn’t want to incur Cersei’s wrath again, or Daenerys’ by the sounds of the letter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least send a representative,” Olenna said warningly. “Don’t go yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grandmother,” Margaery said, “I would really appreciate it if you stopped telling Sansa what to do.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Sansa said. She stared down at the letter in her hands, the words all blurring together on the page. “I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An idea began to form in her head. She had to go, she knew that much: there was no one she trusted enough to represent her but Margaery, and she couldn’t send her alone. But she couldn’t just leave Arya...unless...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have a lot of time. Not if she wanted to keep Arya on her side, not if she wanted to protect the interests of the North and keep the dead at bay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, practically jumping out of her chair. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arya had left her door open a crack. Sansa could tell from that alone that she was upset: she always did that when she was younger, flung herself onto her bed before she could be bothered to close the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’ve both changed, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought wistfully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But we’re still the same people who left Winterfell all those years ago, in the ways that matter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa pushed the door open further with the tip of her finger, not wanting to make a noise or startle her. She peered through the gap, and saw that Arya wasn’t lying on her bed, but she was crouching by it - no, she was unpacking her bag, which was full of - </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Faces. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa’s hand flew to her stomach as it churned at the sight of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Human faces. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She clamped her other hand over her mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I just had to gasp, didn’t I?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya jumped up when she saw Sansa. “I-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” Sansa muttered. “I should - I should have knocked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in.” Arya sounded rather defeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa regarded her bag apprehensively. “Why...I don’t mean to be rude, but what are those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya sighed. “I was really dreading having to explain this to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That - the idea that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Arya </span>
  </em>
  <span>had dreaded telling Sansa something too - comforted her somewhat, despite the strange nature of the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re my faces,” she said. “In Braavos, I was in training to be a Faceless Man. An assassin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had rather been hoping that would help her understand Arya better. If anything, it made her more confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya didn’t say anything for a few moments. She just stared at the floor, her eyes wide but unreadable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and I don’t really know each other anymore,” Sansa said. “We think we do, but we don’t. We’re going to have to get to know each other all over again. I want to trust you, Arya, I really do. And I feel like you want to trust me as well. I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you for that. But we can’t afford to take that out on each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya stared down at her hands wordlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Sansa said meekly. “I know you didn’t want to be lectured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Arya said grumpily. “I probably deserve to be lectured, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa opened her mouth, then promptly closed it. Arya probably didn’t need a reminder of the awful things she’d said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just need to know if you believe me,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya pursed her lips. “I want to. But I can’t quite yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’m going to make a suggestion. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to go along with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes you do, because the entire future of the North sort of hinges on it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought. But she couldn’t say that to her, not really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve received an invitation to go to King’s Landing,” she said. “Cersei and Daenerys want to discuss terms of surrender, and they want the North to be represented as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya finally met her gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t want to go, but it looks like I’ll have to. And I’ll be gone for the gods know how long. But I need someone to be Lady of Winterfell while I’m gone, and Margaery wants to come with me.” She looked pointedly at Arya. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Sansa said. “And for the foreseeable future, that will be you. And Bran, but - well, I’m leaving it in your hands. Because I trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know the first thing about running a castle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright. Loras and Olenna are staying here, and they can help you. I don’t want them overstepping their places, though, and if they make any decisions for you or try anything untoward, you have my full permission to gut them.” She hoped the tone of her voice conveyed the fact that that was half a joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya put her head in her hands. “Sorry about threatening to kill Margaery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen. After what you’ve been through, and I don’t even know the half of that, I don’t blame you for being wary. If you let me go South, we’ll both be placing our trust in each other. I know it’ll be difficult, but I want to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a chance that this was a really bad idea. There was also a small chance that Arya was about to gut </span>
  <em>
    <span>her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sansa had taken plenty of gambles already that day, and this was the first one that felt right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On one condition,” Arya said tentatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t be something ridiculous that I can’t possibly give you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still want to kill Cersei.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Oh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not right away.” Arya shot up, holding her hands out defensively. “I know she can’t die yet, that me killing her would start a war or something. But...she still killed our family, Sansa. She still deserves to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is an extension of the trust exercise, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa realised. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She wants to push my limits. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But she wasn’t wrong. Cersei did still deserve to die. Even if she had let Sansa live instead of having her killed at the Eyrie: Sansa still didn’t understand that, had never been able to figure out the motivations behind that. Especially since it had only made matters worse for Cersei in the long run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sansa said. “You’re right, we need her alive for...well, as long as all this takes. I can’t promise when that time will be over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a deep breath, and she saw something shift behind Arya’s eyes - trust, perhaps, or excitement. Either way, it was a change from the apprehension she had viewed her with before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I promise. You will have the revenge you deserve one day.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading!<br/>I genuinely can't believe that the next chapter will be the last one. When I first started writing Green-Eyed Monsters, I had no idea that I would want to take Sansa and Margaery in this direction, only knew I wanted to put them together in the story, but I loved writing them so much that I just had to tell the rest of their story while they were away from the rest of the narrative. The reason it's coming to an end isn't because their story is over but because it lines up with the narrative of the main fic again, and therefore they'll be in the other fic in this series.<br/>(Shut up, Emma, you can say your dramatic goodbye next chapter.)<br/>As always, feedback would be appreciated! I love hearing your thoughts :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Epilogue: Fret Not, Dear Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Starks and the Tyrells prepare for Sansa and Margaery's departure, as they all look towards the future.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For what felt like the first time since they’d retaken Winterfell, the Great Hall was not filled to the brim with bickering Northern lords and soldiers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, they’d gathered there to say goodbye to Sansa and Margaery, with one final dinner. Loras and Olenna had suggested it, wanting to give them a proper send-off with the whole family (because that was rather how they felt now, the Starks and the Tyrells, as they slowly adjusted and integrated with each other, like a family). It felt rather like a well-deserved rest: after all the problems they’d faced and obstacles they’d overcome, a quiet family dinner was exactly what they needed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If only I’d been able to say a proper goodbye to Mother and Father like this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa thought sadly as she picked at her chicken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one had voiced aloud that this might be exactly that: a proper goodbye. But Sansa couldn’t help but suspect it was on all their minds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean to tell me,” Loras said raucously, “that you...what, you became a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bird?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I warged into a raven,” Bran said. “It was terrifying, the first time. I almost fell out of the sky.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I could warg into an animal like that,” he said, “I wouldn’t have picked a raven.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t choose!” Bran protested. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa barely suppressed a smile when she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. Bran still remained distant most of the time, staring blankly into space with a disturbed look on his face, and yet when he managed to interact with the rest of them, he was beginning to feel like his old self more again, now that he felt more at home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you what I would warg into,” Margaery said. “A fish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A fish?” Sansa chuckled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! I’ve always wondered what it must be like to be a fish. They always look so peaceful, just swimming around all day-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Until you get caught by a fisherman,” Olenna said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery rolled her eyes. “Grandmother, there is no need to be so cynical about everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me for being-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry I’m late.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The table fell silent as a quiet voice came from the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Is it alright if I sit down?” Arya asked. She looked rather hesitant to walk further into the room, her weight shifting nervously from foot to foot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Sansa said. “Come, sit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya smiled, and came to sit down next to Bran. “What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chicken,” Margaery said, her mouth still slightly full. “Excellent chicken, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, brilliant.” Arya picked up a piece and began to chew. “So, are you leaving tomorrow morning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At sunrise,” Sansa said. “Gods, I’m not ready for such a long journey again. It feels like we only just got here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least we have a carriage and some guards this time,” Margaery said. “Unlike when we rode all the way to Castle Black.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, gods, that was the worst. Remember that one night up in the Gift? I thought we were going to freeze to death.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. “You two rode all the way to Castle Black from King’s Landing alone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, and we will never be doing anything like that again.” Margaery glanced nervously at Sansa. “I hope.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a damn shame we’re not making Cersei Lannister ride all the way up here like that,” Olenna said. “I’d like to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>survive a night in the freezing North.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bran smiled knowingly. Sansa chose to ignore it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As wonderful a mental image that is,” Sansa said, “it seems as though we will have to play nice with her for the time being. Though I find it unlikely she’ll give us the same courtesy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How in all seven hells are you going to manage that?” Olenna said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I imagine there will be a lot of gritted teeth,” Margaery remarked, “and a lot of very painful smiles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, good luck with that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least Brienne might be civil to you,” Loras said. “Though I do wonder if Cersei’s influence has corrupted her yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa made a face. “I’ll never understand why they’re friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Loras raised his eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Friends?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I’m sorry, I thought they were. Are they - I mean, I always did wonder if Brienne only put up with her for Jaime’s sake-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Olenna said. “The message must not have reached you. You were too busy fighting for Winterfell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What message?” Margaery glanced curiously at Sansa, who simply shrugged. “Is there something we don’t know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cersei and Brienne are together, Margaery,” Loras said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, we know that,” Sansa said. “She’s her Hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olenna scoffed. “You’d think they’d be a little less impervious, all things considered.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All things con-” Sansa dropped her fork, and it clattered onto her plate. “You mean-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clapped a hand over her mouth. “No, no, no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaime and Brienne are together,” Margaery said. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cersei </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Brienne.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s rather strange,” Loras explained. “Brienne seems to be with both of them? At the same time? I don’t understand it very well, but they made a whole proclamation about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery scoffed. “Only the Lannisters would do something so dramatic as announce their incestuous relationship through a </span>
  <em>
    <span>proclamation.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not incestuous, apparently,” Olenna said. “Conveniently, they omitted any suggestion of Cersei and Jaime being together, which I don’t believe for a second.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither do I,” Sansa said distastefully. “Wait a second - this means Cersei likes </span>
  <em>
    <span>women</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would seem so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She all but snorted. “That is far funnier than it has any right to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, gods, do you remember?” Margaery said. “The High Sparrow had her arrested for ‘inappropriate relations with women’ or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I completely forgot about that! I always thought they were just made-up charges, and no one actually wanted to convict her for incest.” Sansa leaned her head back against her chair. “Gods, that’s strange to think about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And to think of all the times she commented on my perversions,” Loras scoffed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...think I’ve missed quite a lot,” Arya said hesitantly. “I’m not completely sure what you’re all talking about. But I would say that incest is a</span>
  <em>
    <span> far </span>
  </em>
  <span>worse perversion than...you know, loving other men, so she is definitely one to talk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa laughed heartily. “I would hope so. All things considered.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya smirked. “I suppose I should be more informed about this sort of thing if I’m going to be Lady of Winterfell for the time being.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Olenna said. “I’ll be right here to help you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too,” Loras said, his mouth full of potatoes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Olenna said, not sounding too convinced. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>will be here to help you through it, and I’ve had my fair share of nonsense. I can deal with whatever the North throws at us - if you need me to, that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suspect I will,” Arya said, sounding rather unsure of herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Bran said. “You’re more capable than you think you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya narrowed her eyes. “Is that...like a prophecy, or…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just an observation,” Bran said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I meant to ask,” Loras said. “If you can see the future, then why can’t you...you know, just tell us what’s going to happen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t quite work like that,” Bran said. “Sometimes seeing everything all at once feels like seeing nothing. It’s all around me, but I still can’t quite grasp most of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Right,” Loras said, still not quite looking like he understood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But,” he said, turning to Arya, “I will be here to help you. Should you need me to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya beamed. “Thank you, Bran.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned to look at Sansa. “I...still don’t know what to make of this opportunity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to take it,” Sansa said. “You can still-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to,” Arya said, nodding decisively. “I do. I’ll...I’ll do my best.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was an unspoken agreement in her eyes that went beyond the visible show of gratitude: the promise they had made to each other and the gamble they were both taking, the precarious exchange of trust that all this was balancing on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad,” Sansa said. “Besides, it’s what Jon would have wanted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Would want, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wished she’d said, but the words had already left her lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t talk about him like he’s dead. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think so?” Arya said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really wish we didn’t have to go,” Margaery said. “All I want to do now is just...stay here, forever, with all of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be nice,” Sansa sighed. She wanted to make it last, every warm second of it, to capture this moment in her hand and let it go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was never going to be as easy as that, and perhaps she had been a fool for thinking it would be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll be back,” Olenna said. “Hopefully with an army of Lannister men behind you - never thought I’d be hoping to see that awful family again, but here we are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa and Margaery both laughed brightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it, though. If anyone can convince the Lannisters to help the North, it’s you two.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa reached for Margaery’s hand beneath the table, and she took it, both their hands resting on the teal mass of Margaery’s skirts. “I hope so,” she said, beaming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, the fact that we’ve even come this far is incredible,” Bran said. “You’ve both done so much for this family - for all of us. We wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa felt Margaery’s grasp on her hand tighten as she smiled warmly. “We won’t let you down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t really promise that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought bitterly, but she clamped her mouth shut. She had no desire to put a damper on this moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We know you won’t,” Arya said. “Just...when you get to King’s Landing, can you promise to give Cersei a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>piece of your mind? Not enough to disrupt what you need to do, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t worry,” Sansa chuckled. “Just because we have to be diplomatic, doesn’t mean we have to forget who we’re dealing with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or let </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>forget who she’s dealing with,” Margaery added. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya’s smile widened. “Exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The snow fell gently in the dreamy morning light, the pink and yellow of the lazy sunrise casting an ethereal gauze upon the sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The carriage was all prepared, the guards ready to leave, the goodbyes said and the preparations made. All that was left at the gates were Sansa and Margaery, looking out at the road ahead, hand in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, here we are again,” Margaery said shakily. “Crossing half of Westeros together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corners of Sansa’s mouth twitched. “I really thought we’d never have to do that again. I know it’s different this time, but it doesn’t feel any less terrifying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery sighed. “You’re right, it’s...terrifying. But I can’t even imagine how it would feel without you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not without me.” Sansa noticed a stray snowflake which had landed in Margaery’s hair, and she brushed it off. “No matter what happens, you’ll always have me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand lingered next to Margaery’s cheek, her fingers still reaching out to touch her hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery smiled softly. “I know. And you’ll always have me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clasped Sansa’s gloved hands tighter and leaned in towards her, and Sansa’s mouth met hers, warm and comforting as a roaring fire despite the biting cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope you’re right, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought as they kissed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and that we’ll always have each other. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lady Sansa!” someone shouted ahead of them. “Are we ready to go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa jolted away from Margaery suddenly, the haze her mind had become suddenly sharpening again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” She pulled away from Margaery hastily. “Yes, sorry about that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do hope we haven’t been holding everyone up,” Margaery said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright. It was certainly worth it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margaery grinned, and let go of Sansa’s hand. “Come on, then. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us, and the sooner we get there the better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ran across the crisp white snow, footsteps padding gently as their breaths clouded the cold air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The road ahead is uncertain, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sansa thought, thinking back to when she and Margaery had left King’s Landing all those months ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uncertain, except for one thing. We will travel it together, and that’s all that matters. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And after all, Olenna had been right. If anyone could do what they were setting out to do, it was them. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you, so, so much for reading.<br/>To everyone who's been keeping up with this fic, I literally cannot thank you enough for all your support. It really does mean the absolute world to me. I hardly meant to tell this story when I set out to write Green-Eyed Monsters, but I'm so, so glad I did, because I love Sansa and Margaery with all my heart, and I couldn't have let them go up North without following them there.<br/>This isn't quite the end of this story yet, though. *voiceover voice* Sansa and Margaery will return in the next chapters of Green-Eyed Monsters, coming soon to an AO3 near you.<br/>(Also, this is the first fic I've ever completed on AO3, and that feels like a whole achievement in itself, so yay! Milestone.)<br/>But thank you again, I am so grateful that you've read all the way to here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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